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Ifaems h\} the l^w* £♦ Kettle, 

" MA y 3 1933 ' 


^I ' ^iOl. KH jjjH 







Oxford and. London : 




A GOOD many of the Poems contained 
in this volume have already appeared in 
print in various collections of poetry. 

The Ode with which the volume opens was 
composed by Mr. Keble as Professor of Poetry, 
on the occasion of the Installation of the Duke 
of Wellington as Chancellor of the University 
of Oxford in the year 1834. It was set to music 
by the Professor of Music, Dr. Crotch, and per- 
formed in the Theatre in Oxford at the Encaenia 
in that year. 

The next forty-five poems were contributed 
to the Lyra Apostolica, in which they are dis- 
tinguished by the signature 7. To these is added 
a translation of an ancient Greek Hymn of the 
first or second century, which (as I learn from 
the best authority) has accidentally been printed 
in several editions of that book with a different 


The three Hymns for Emigrants, for use at 
Midnight, Morning, and Evening, were written 
at the request of his friend Sir Frederic Rogers, 
at that time Emigration Commissioner. They 
were printed in the first edition of the " Prayers 
for Emigrants," which he had compiled, but 
were subsequently omitted, perhaps as being 
thought not sufficiently simple for the class of 
people for whose use the Book of Prayers was 
chiefly intended. 

Then follow four poems from the " Child's 
Christian Year," and four which have been 
printed in the " Salisbury Hymnal." 

Mr. Keble offered other contributions to the 
" Salisbury Hymnal" besides these four, several 
of which are printed in this volume. They are 
mostly translations of ancient Church Hymns. 
Among these are some w r hich are, I believe, 
wholly translated by himself. These are " Nocte 
surgentes a ," " Nunc sancte," " Rector potens," 
"Rerum Deus," " Salvete flores," " Cultor Dei 

a By an unfortunate oversight, the first line of this translation 
is printed " Watch us by night," instead of " Watch we." 


memento," " O Deus, ego amo Te," and " Alle- 
luia, dulce carmen." Others are altered, so 
largely as to be in fact new translations, from 
other versions, particularly those of Dr. Neale, 
Mr. Copeland, and the " Hymnal Noted." It 
was thought by the compilers of the Hymnal 
that the extreme faithfulness of these trans- 
lations gave them an air of stiffness, which made 
them less fit for congregational singing ; they 
were therefore omitted from that publication. 
But in a collection of his own poems it seems 
well to print some of them, as exhibiting in 
a remarkable degree his power of vigorous and 
exact translation, in respect of compositions of 
which extremely condensed thought, and pro- 
found acquaintance with Holy Scripture are 
the chief characteristics. Any person who will 
compare these versions with those on which 
they are confessedly framed, will, I think, not 
fail to recognise these qualities in them. Of 
a few well-known modern hymns he also offered 
variations ; but these it has been thought better 
not to print. One, however, I add as a speci- 
men : — 


" The Lord magnified Joshua." — Joshua iv. 14. 

" Guide us, Thou whose name is Saviour, 
Pilgrims in the barren land, 
We are weak, and Thou Almighty, 
Hold us with Thy strong right-hand, 

As in Egypt, 
As upon the Red Sea strand. 

" Let the cloud and fire supernal 
Day and night before us go : 
Lead us to the rock and fountain 
Whence the living waters flow : 

Bread of Heaven, 
Feed us, till no want we know. 

" When we touch the cold, dark river, 
Cleave for us the swelling tide ; 
Through the flood, and through the whirlpool 
Let Thine Ark our footsteps guide : 

Jesu, lead us, 
Land us safe on Canaan's side. 

" Praise the Father, God of Heaven, 
Him who reigns supreme on high ; 
Praise the Son, for sinners given, 
E'en to suffer and to die ; 

Praise the Spirit, 
Guiding us so lovingly. 



The original of the above, from the " Book of Praise." 

" Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah ; 
Pilgrim through this barren land ; 
I am weak, but Thou art mighty ; 
Hold me with Thy powerful hand ! 

Bread of Heaven ! Bread of Heaven ! 
Feed me now and evermore. 

" Open now the crystal Fountain, 

Whence the healing streams do flow ; 
Let the fiery, cloudy pillar 

Lead me all my journey through ; 

Strong Deliverer ! strong Deliverer ! 
Be Thou still my strength and shield ! 

" When I tread the verge of Jordan, 
Bid my anxious fears subside ; 
Death of death, and Hell's destruction, 
Land me safe on Canaan's side ; 

Songs of praises, songs of praises, 
I will ever give to Thee." 

William Williams, 1774. 

Beautiful as it is in the original, it will be 
readily seen what a rich and solemn colouring 
is thrown over it by the deep Scriptural know- 
ledge, and the exact doctrine of the poet. 

The remaining poems in the volume are ar- 
ranged, as nearly as can be ascertained, in the 


order of the years in which they were composed. 
This will account for a considerable mixture of 
subjects in them ; but it will also throw no 
small light upon the great general consistency 
of his character from early youth to mature old 
age. For as there was a singular maturity of 
sacred thought in his earliest writings, so w T as 
there a sweet freshness — almost what might be 
called boyishness — of feeling which lasted on 
and is visible in those which were written last. 
It is not improbable that he would in his later 
life have withheld some of the earlier poems 
from publication, nor that expressions may be 
found here and there, breathing a somewhat 
different tone from that which he would have 
adopted in after years. Such slight varieties, 
however, if such there are, are but the true de- 
tail of the working of an uniform and consistent 
spirit in the course of many years ; and it is 
with the view of shewing this, that the exact 
dates of the several pieces are added whenever 
they can be certainly ascertained. 

The poem on the Annunciation is, it will be 
seen, in great measure the same as that which 


is printed on the same subject in the " Chris- 
tian Year." There is no doubt that it was 
written in the first place as here given, and on 
the occasion of the death of his own mother 
in June, 1823. But in its original form, it came 
too close to his own personal and most sacred 
feelings to allow him to print it ; so omitting 
the concluding stanzas, and substituting others, 
he gave it a more general turn, and fitted it for 
its place in the " Christian Year." I trust that 
it is no improper unveiling of those sacred feel- 
ings to print the poem as originally written, 
now that he is gone. Those concluding stanzas 
are not only in themselves eminently beautiful, 
and remarkably expressive of the sweetness and 
affection, and of the tenderness of conscience 
which characterized him in all his life, but they 
also reflect a new and true light upon the train 
of thought in the earlier part of the poem, and 
render intelligible expressions in the first stanza, 
which, as it stands in the " Christian Year," 
need explanation. 

The poem entitled " Mother out of Sight" 
was written for the Lyra Innocentium* but 


withheld from publication at the time, with his 
consent but against his wish, at the earnest re- 
quest of some of his dearest friends. The reasons 
which were sufficient to cause it to be withheld 
then do not exist any longer, and inasmuch as 
he did not himself disapprove of its being 
printed, and that different considerations may 
be allowed to enter into the questions of con- 
temporary and posthumous publication, I have 
thought it not wrong to publish it. It has re- 
cently been printed at length in Sir John Cole- 
ridge's memoir, and a part of it was quoted 
a few years since in the " Month," a Roman 
Catholic periodical. It belongs to " troublous 
days of anguish and rebuke," and if in some 
part it seems to indicate any doubt of the posi- 
tion of the Church of England as part of the 
Catholic Church of Christ, the remainder of it, 
and his own most loyal life till death as a Priest 
in the Anglican communion, are abundantly 
sufficient to shew that that doubt, if it ever ex- 
isted at all, was fully and practically satisfied. 
Let it be allowed to one — who had the honour 
of his intimate friendship during the last thirty 


years of his life, and was in habits of the closest 
and most confidential communication with him 
during the anxious times referred to — to bear 
the clearest and strongest witness to the fact 
that in the midst of great and sore distress he 
never (not, I verily believe, for a single moment) 
entertained the idea of deserting the commu- 
nion in which he was baptized, or, with all his 
true and filial yearning for Catholic union, felt 
less than extreme repugnance to the unscrip- 
tural doctrines and claims of the Church of 

Among the earlier poems will be found two 
or three copies of love-verses, bearing the date 
of 1 8 12, when he was in his twentieth year. 
These have been printed partly on account of 
their own beauty, and partly as furnishing a real 
trait of himself when he was a young man. For 
he had a singularly loving spirit, and to him may 
well be transferred the beautiful words which 
in one of the poems of this volume he applies 
to Petrarca, for he too 

" Chanted his hermit-hymn to Heaven and Love, 
Soft and severe : for Piety had framed 


The melody, and even- wilder chord 

Was tempered to her solemn undersong. 

So Love seemed what he is. — a spirit devout. 

Owning God most in His most beauteous work."' 

Two odes also, written in early life, are in- 
serted in their places : the one referring to 
the rising of the Portuguese in 1S0S, the other 
to the battles in the Pyrenees in the year 
1S13. They shew that though the prevailing 
character of his poetry is one of gentleness, 
yet there was in him a fire of feeling and ex- 
pression which might have found noble utter- 
ance in more secular and stirring poetry, if 
he had not deliberately preferred to " abide 
where the holy shadow lay, where Heaven his 
lot had cast." 

There is, as is inevitable in a volume consist- 
ing in great degree of u Remains," a fragmentary- 
and incomplete character, not only in the col- 
lection in general, but also in several of the 
pieces contained in it. This, however, does not 
seem to form a sufficient reason for keeping 
such pieces back. Indeed, in this, as in various 
other respects, there is much difference between 


the grounds for selecting poetry for publication 
during an author's lifetime, and after his death. 
While he is alive and can make his own selec- 
tion, it is due to the public and to himself that 
he should put forward only such pieces as are 
finished to the utmost of his power, and express 
his thought most exactly in the form in which 
he desires it to be seen and understood. But 
when he is gone, and the picture of his mind 
and genius is to be completed, as nearly as may 
be, from the scattered traits which his posthu- 
mous papers furnish, it would be a great sa- 
crifice of the truth and genuineness of the por- 
trait if pieces were excluded, either because, 
written at different periods of his life, they might 
shew some difference in expression or sentiment, 
or because they were wanting in the last finish 
which he would have given to them if he had 
printed them himself. Some of the most life- 
like of these traits are furnished in the present 
instance by such fragments, thrown off at a heat, 
as it were, and never returned to again, but 
full of sparkles of true Christian gold, which it 
would be a real loss to lose. The precious 


treasure which many Christian hearts feel that 
they possess in the " Christian Year/' does not 
depend upon the completeness or the finish of 
the separate poems. It is often, I apprehend, 
a stanza, a line, even a single expression which 
dwells upon the memory, and leads men to bless 
God for the help and comfort which He has 
given them in the sw r eet writings of the Chris- 
tian poet 

It is the characteristic of Keble's poetry to 
be in a very high degree the reflex of himself. 
It is probable that (except perhaps in the In- 
stallation Ode, which was required of him in 
his office of Professor of Poetry) he never sat 
down expressly for the purpose of writing poetry 
as such ; but gifted with a mind highly poetical 
by nature, and refined by the highest cultiva- 
tion, it was a relief to him, as various circum- 
stances arose, to .express in verse the thoughts 
and feelings which those circumstances sug- 
gested. His deeply devotional cast of mind, 
his great and unfailing reverence for holy things, 
his profound knowledge of the Scriptures, and 
of the sacred Truth taught in all ages in the 


Church, gave to these occasional effusions a pre- 
vailingly religious character, while his tender 
love of home, and whatever belonged to home 
mingled with his natural playfulness of mind 
and delight in children, threw over everything 
he wrote a gracious sweetness which was exactly 
characteristic of all his life and conversation. 
Time after time some little incident, often of the 
very slightest kind, has given occasion to one 
of these sweet gushes, if I may so call them, of 
verse, in which very deep thought and feeling 
found their natural and genuine expression. 
Once written, he thought of them no more. 
Scraps of this kind are found on the backs of 
letters, in leaves of old pocket-books, and in 
other such places, where apparently they were 
first put down and then forgotten. 

If there is one quality, which more than 
another may be said to mark his writings, it is 
their intense and absolute veracity. Never for 
a moment is the very truth sacrificed to effect. 
I will venture to say with confidence that there 
is not a sentiment to be found elevated or am- 
plified beyond what he really felt ; nor, I would 


add, even an epithet that goes oeyond his 
actual and true thought. What he was in life 
and character, that he was, transparently, in 
every line he wrote, — entirely, always, reve- 
rentially true. 

It was his own theory of poetry, — a theory 
most beautifully and completely drawn out in 
his Prselections, — that poetry when regarded in 
its own true and essential being, is the natural 
outpouring of a mind labouring inwardly, so 
to speak, with lofty and tender thought, and 
endeavouring to obtain relief by an expression 
which, using images and sentiments gathered 
on every side of nature, should be conveyed in 
elevated language and rhythmical measure. 

Of poetry in this high sense, he thought that 
modesty is an essential quality : for while the 
mind in its secret agitation craves and finds 
relief in verse, that very verse is of the nature 
of a veil, hiding in part what in part it reveals. 
Thus the withholding of the full and entire con- 
fession of the feelings inwardly stirred he held 
to be as essential to the character of a true 
poet, as the absolute truthfulness and reality of 


such as, with such reserve, he found relief in 

He held that essential poetry in this sense 
was to be recognised not only in those whom 
the world acknowledges as poets, and who are 
blessed with "the accomplishment of verse," 
but in children, in persons uneducated, and in 
such as perhaps never made nor read a line of 
verse in their lives, but whose acts or words 
exhibit the essential requisites of poetry, the 
mind labouring with lofty or tender thought, 
and the imaginative expression in which that 
thought finds its reserved and modest, but suffi- 
cient outlet. He illustrated this view in the 
case of rustics, by alleging their love of home, 
exhibited in all sorts of indirect w T ays of act 
and word, by their reverence of the memory 
and memorials of dead friends, and by their 
strong sense of superhuman and invisible powers, 
of omens, and the like ; acknowledging, how- 
ever, that " it is to be confessed that there is 
in the lowest and rudest people that which 
often obscures, and sometimes miserably ex- 
tinguishes that silent poetry and light of fancy 


of which we speak, inasmuch as in their desire 
to relieve their agitation of feeling, they are in- 
capable of restraining themselves from pouring 
out alike what ought and what ought not to 
be expressed, and so have no room whatever 
left for the sweet discipline of poetry." 

In the well-nigh universal presence of this 
essential poetry in men's minds, he found the 
secret of the delight which so many take in 
the perfect works of true poets. For the silent 
strings which God has set in the hearts of very 
many, if not all, of His people, vibrate inwardly 
to the true notes, w r hen they are skilfully struck 
by those gifted hands to w r hich God has been 
pleased to impart the further gift of utterance 
in addition to that of appreciation. 

Pursuing this view of poetry, and dividing 
poets into the two classes of primary and se- 
condary, according as they either write verse 
" spontaneously, under a sense of distress, de- 
siring to pour out and thereby soothe their feel- 
ings of sorrow, or other kinds of emotion, or, 
from other motives, construct in verse poetical 
sentiments and rhythmical words/' he examines 


in detail the works of all the great poets of 
antiquity, classifying and criticising them with 
great skill, and giving to each his own character 
and praise, with a power and delicacy at once so 
original and so just, as to make his lectures one 
of the most charming and valuable volumes of 
classical criticism that have ever issued from 
the press. 

It is plain from this slight sketch of his theory 
of poetry, that the mere artifice of verse-making, 
however perfect, held a very secondary place in 
his estimation ; and it must be confessed that 
with a sweet and melodious flow of natural 
verse there is mingled in his writings an occa- 
sional inexactness and roughness of expression 
and rhythm which he did not care to smoothe. 
Indeed, it is said on very good authority that 
the poet Wordsworth (for whom Keble always 
entertained the highest reverence, as is shewn 
by the expressions he uses respecting him in 
the dedication to the Oxford Praelections), 
having read the u Christian Year," expressed 
his high sense of its beauty, and also of the 
occasional imperfections of the verse, in the 


following most characteristic terms : " It is very 
good," he said ; " so good, that if it were mine. 
I would write it all over again." 

Still more strikingly is the truthful and mo- 
dest verse of the Christian poet contrasted with 
the sensational w r ritings which are much in 
vogue in the present age. Immodesty of all 
kinds was utterly repugnant to his nature, by 
which I mean not only such flagrant immodesty 
as actually disfigures some of the elaborate 
poetry of the day, but also the immodesty 
which lays bare to the whole w r orld the inmost 
secrets of the heart, and, as it were, dissects 
and analyzes them for the purpose of shewing 
the profundity of thought, and mastery of lan- 
guage of the poet, and which, in so doing, can 
hardly fail to exaggerate, and exaggerating to 
distort the truth of nature, and to do violence 
to the veiled reserve of true poetry. 

It may be freely granted that in a merely 
artistic point of view Keble's poems may not 
rank so high as those of some other writers, 
whose claim to the higher characteristics of the 
true poet is incalculably inferior to his. And 


it is not impossible that those who take delight 
in such stimulating and less wholesome strains, 
however artificially perfect, may have lost their 
ear and taste for gentler and deeper music. But 
it would indicate a strangely low and mistaken 
estimate of that which constitutes the real nature 
of heavenly poetry, if verse like that of the 
" Christian Year," which, as it issued from one 
deep and holy heart, has found its way to the 
hearts of so many thousands, were to be re- 
garded as a work of art only, and judged of 
according to its outward rules. No doubt that 
precious volume might have been brought up 
to a higher finish in respect of the exterior 
qualities of verse. But which of those who love 
it dearly and thankfully, — and they are a 
countless multitude of the best and truest ser- 
vants of God in His Church, — would now 
consent to part with even its occasional rough- 
nesses of word and rhythm, recalling as they do, 
and truthfully representing the exact thought 
of the writer, in the very form in which it issued, 
pure and genuine, from the sweetest and holiest 
of minds ? When we have our friends still with 
us, we may perhaps prefer the smooth portrait, 


elaborated by the skill of the painter, to the 
faithful and less flattering photograph. But 
when they are gone, do we regret to recognise 
the very marks, the very wrinkles it may be, 
which bring our beloved ones before our eyes 
with the undeniable and unmistaken exactness 
of the truth ? 

The poems in this volume will be found to 
add various traits to the portrait of the beloved 
author, as furnished by the books which he pub- 
lished in his lifetime. Some of the love-verses 
of his youth have already been referred to. The 
picture would have been strangely incomplete 
if it had contained no recollections of his deep 
humbleness a and tenderness of conscience, of 
his great charity, of his affectionate and cling- 
ing love to his home and family, and of his 
merry playfulness, especially with children. A 
few trifles of this last -mentioned kind have 

a On the day before his funeral his wife said to one who was 
by her bedside, " There is one thing that I do not think any 
one could know but those who were constantly with him — the 
depth of his humility and charity. Notwithstanding his very 
keen feeling about doctrine, he always made such great allow- 
ances for other people. He never spoke a sharp word about 
those who differed from him without correcting himself imme- 


been inserted in their respective places, while 
others have been omitted. Among these is 
a playful letter from Oxford, addressed to the 
Miss Pruens with a copy of Bowdler's Shak- 
speare. It is not worth printing at length, but 
the following lines are characteristic : — 

" He has been in the dirt, but you'll please to take note 
One Bowdler has lately been brushing his coat ; 
So let me present him to make his best bow, 
Assured that you'll not have to blush for him now.'' 

To those who have known and loved the au- 
thor this collection will hardly fail to be highly 
interesting. It may not add much to his fame 
as a poet, yet neither will it be found to fall 
beneath it. But it will help to present even 
more fully than the other volumes, the very 
truth — from boyhood to old age, in his home, 
among his friends, in his parish, — of the holy 
man whose memory the Church cherishes, and 
will surely continue to cherish as one of the 
most fragrant and precious of her treasures. 

G. M. 


Feb. 22, 1869. 




Ode for the Encaenia at Oxford I 

The Three Absolutions ..... 


Encouragement ..... 


Bereavement. — Resignation. .... 


Burial of the Dead ..... 


Lighting of Lamps ..... 


Lights at Vespers ...... 


Lights in the L T pper Chamber .... 


The Churchman to his Lamp . 


The Watch by Night ..... 


Christian Chivalry ..... 


To a Thrush Singing in the Middle of a Village 

3, Jan 


; 32 

The African Church .... 


Hooker ....... 




Let us Depart Hence .... 


Athanasian Creed ..... 


Burial Service ..... 

. 42 

Length of the Prayers .... 

• 43 

A Remnant 

. 44 

Jeremiah ...... 

• 45 

The Ruler of the Nations 

. 46 

The Avenger ..... 

• 47 



The Herald of Woe 48 

The Comforter ........ 49 

Sacrilege . . 51 

United States ......... 55 

Champions of the Truth . 57 

The Creed 58 

Spoliation ......... 60 

Church and King ........ 62 

Oxford .......... 64 

Fire. — Part I. Nadab and Abihu 65 

The Burning at Taberah ...... 68 

Korah, Dathan, and Abiram 69 

Elijah and the Messengers of Ahaziah ... 72 

Fire. — Part II. The Samaritans spared .... 74 

Julian 76 

The Fall of Babylon 78 

Divine Wrath 80 

Commune Pontificum ....... 82 

Tokens . . 84 

Seals 86 

Gifts 88 

Arms 90 

Light 91 

The Gathering of the Church . . . . . .92 

Hymns for Emigrants 94 

The Innocents' Day . . . . . . .103 

First Sunday after Easter 105 

Tenth Sunday after Trinity . . . . . .107 

Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity ... . 109 

St. John's Day in 

For the Rogation Days 114 



Easter Eve 1 16 

Holy Matrimony 119 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns : — 

Somno refectis artubus . . • • . .122 

Jam lucis orto sidere . . . . . . .124 

Nocte surgentes . . . . . . . .126 

Nunc sancte . . . . . • • .127 

Rector potens . . . . . . . .128 

Rerum Deus ........ 129 

Primo dierum omnium . . . . . .130 

Lucis Creator optime . . . . . . -132 

Salvete flores Martyrum . ... 134 

Cultor Dei memento . .... 136 

Chorus novae Hierusalem . . . . . -138 

Vexilla Regis ........ 140 

Verbum supernum prodiens . . . . . .142 

Vox clara ecce personat . . . . . . 143 

Pange lingua, gloriosi prselium certaminis . . .144 

O Deus, ego amo Te ...... 147 

Alleluia, dulce carmen . . . . . .149 

Corde natus ex Parentis . . . . . • I 5 I 

" Libertas, quae sera tamen respexit inertem," 1808 . 154 

To , on her Sister's Death . . . . 159 

To a Girl, who was complaining that she had forgotten 

her Sister's Birthday . . . . . .160 

Lines suggested by the Remembrance of an early but long- 
lost Friend 161 

On visiting the Ruins of Farleigh Castle, Somersetshire . 162 
On leaving Corpus Christi College, on his Election to 

a Fellowship of Oriel 164 

Song .......... 166 



A Thought on a Fine Morning 

To the Nightingale 

Sonnet ..... 

Stanzas addressed to a " Gloomy Thinker 

" Xec me discedere flevit " 

A Wet Day at Midsummer 

The First Sight of the Sea 

Written at Sidmouth 

To a Cave under High Peak, Sidmouth 

To the Memory of John Leyden, M.D. 

On being requested to write some Ver 

Robin Lee ..... 
Stanzas on leaving Sidmouth. (Fragment 
" Nunquam Auditurae " . 
Sonnet "concerning the True Poet" 
To J. T. C, with Petrarca . 


Ode on the Victories in the Pp-enees, iS 

O, stay Thee yet, &c. 

Sonnet ..... 

Lines sent with the Lives of Ridley and Cranm 

At Hooker's Tomb 

Forward ..... 

Early Visions .... 

On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral 

At Penshurst .... 

Hammond's Grave 

Spring Flowers .... 

On the North Road 

Newton Cliff, near Fledborough 

a Fi 








By an Old Bacnelor very disconsolate at parting with his 

Four Wives ........ 222 

To the Same ........ 223 

The Rook 225 

A Thought upon taking Leave of some Friends . . 228 

Hymn for the Annunciation ...... 230 

A Hint for a Fable 234 

Moonlight, Ulcombe Parsonage ..... 235 

Fragment on his Sister Mar} 7 Anne's Death . . . 236 

Huntspill Tower ........ 237 

The Exe below Tiverton at Sunrise .... 238 

A Mile from Totness on the Tor Road, looking back . 239 

Fairford again ........ 240 

Turning out of the London Road, down to Sapperton . 241 

Nay, but these are Breezes 243 

How shall the Righteous ? 245 

There have been mighty Winds ..... 246 

In Harmony, &c. . 247 

Two Lamps apart, &c. ....... ib. 

To E. K., jun 248 

Malvern at a Distance ....... 250 

Fragment . . . 251 

May-day Song for the Hursley Children . . .253 

Mother out of Sight 254 

When is Communion nearest ? ..... 260 

Holy is the Sick Man's Room 262 

St. Mark xvi. 4 263 

O Lord, if ever, &c . 264 

St. John xiv. I . 265 

Ye of nice Touch, &c. ....... 266 

The Clarion calls, &c. 268 


PAG a 

In Choirs and Places where they Sing, here followeth 

the Anthem 269 

Jeremiah xxiii. 23 270 

Why seek we, sounding high and low . . . .271 

Fragment 272 

St. John v. 16, 17 275 

When in her Hour of still Decay 276 

To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon . . . .278 

To his Sister Elizabeth 282 

Written in the Album at Cuddesdon Palace . . . 284 

Nurse, let me draw, &c. 285 

Hymn for Easter-tide 287 

For the Opening of the West Window of the Hall of St. 

Andrew's College, Bradfield. April 5, 1859 . .291 

Prayers of Saints 293 

Epitaph 295 

For Music ......... 296 

Dart and Webber 298 

Hymn 300 

To a Little Girl 302 

To Master Bernard Wilson's Dog 304 

Qde iat the Qncxniz at ®xford t 

Written for the Installation of His Grace Arthur, Duke 

of Wellington, Chancellor of the University. 

June 11, 1834. 

T F, when across the autumnal heaven, 
■*■ The rude winds draw their restless shroud. 

One glorious star to sight be given, 
Now dim, now clear, an isle in deeps of cloud ; 
Watchmen on their lonely tower, 

Shepherds by their mountain hold, 
Wistful gazing hour by hour, 

Trace it through the tempest's fold ; 
Even such, in records dark of care and crime 
Each in high Heaven's appointed time, 
Bright names of Heroes glow, that gem the days of old. 



Ode for the Enccenia at Oxford, 

When ours are days of old, 
Whom will our children's children name 
The Star of our dark time, the man high-soul'd, 

At whose undying orb the true and bold 
May light their lamps with pure heroic flame ? 
Go ask of every gale that blows, 

Of every wave that curls the main • — ■ 
Where at burning noon repose 
Tigers by some Indian fane ; 
Where hoary cliffs of Lusitane, 
Like aged men, stand waiting on the shore, 
And watch the setting sun, and hear th' Atlantic roar. 


Then onward, where th' Iberian mountain gale 

O'er many a deep monastic vale, 
O'er many a golden river loves to fling 
His gatherings from the thymy lap of spring, 

on the Installation of the Duke of Wellington. 3 

Ask wide waters proudly spann'd, 
Towers upheav'd by War's strong hand, 
Oaks upon their mountains rent, 
Where th' avenging whirlwind went ; 
Torrents of Navarre that boil 
Choking with abandon'd spoil. — 
Ask of the shades endear'd of yore 
By tread of holy feet, 
Monarch, or maiden vow'd, or calm-eyed priest, 

Ask them by whom releas'd, 
They breathe their hermit hymns, awful and sweet, 

In saintly stillness, as before ; 
But chiefly pause where Heroes' bones are laid 
By Learning's haunted home in Salamanca's glade. 


There, on the cloister'd youth of Spain, 
The trumpet call'd, nor call'd in vain ; — 
Not Aaron's clarion, tun'd and blest on high, 
The dread Ark moving nigh, 
ThrilPd in a nobler cause, or poufd a keener strain. 

Ode for the Encaenia at Oxford, 

'Mid other cloisters now, and dearer shrines, 
The memory rings of that victorious blast, 

And years and glories past, 
Charm'd to new life, advance in brightening lines. 
Restorer of the rightful thrones ! 

Thee, cottage hearth, thee, palace tower, 
Thee, busy mart and studious bower, 
Thee, Isis, thine at last, her great Deliverer owns.- 
Who knows not how the vulture woke, 
Whose " deadly wound was heal'd ? " 
One breathless aim — 'tis o'er — one stroke 
That felon wing for ever broke. 
Oh, laurell'd, bloody field ! 
Day of stern joy for heaven and earth ! 
Wrong' d earth, avenging heaven ! 
How well might War's ungentle lore 
With thee depart for evermore, 
And to the weary world th' expected birth 
Of calm, bright years be given ! 


It may not be : lo, wild and free 
Swarms out anew the dragon kind \ 

on the Installation of the Duke of Wettingto?h 5 

Spreads fast and far the kindling war 

Against th' Anointed and Enshrined. 
But thou, my Mother ! green as erst and pure 

Thy willows wave, thy meeting waters glide ; 
Untarnished on thy matron breast endure 

The treasur'd gems, thy youth's delight and pride: 
Firm Loyalty, serene and fond, 
Wearing untir'd her lofty bond ; 
Awful Reverence, bending low 
Where'er the heavens their radiance throw : 
And Wisdom's mate, Simplicity, 
That in the gloom dares trust the guiding arm on 
These, of old thy guardians tried, 
Daily kneeling at thy side, 
And wont by night to fan thy vigil fires — 
We feel them hovering now around th > aerial spires. 
Our votive lays un alter' d swell, 
Our angels breathe their willing spell, 
Breathe on our incense cloud > and bear 
Our welcome high in lucid air, 
Telling dark Evil's banded powers 
That he who freed the world is ours. 

Ode for the Encaenia at Oxford, 


Stand still in heaven, fair cloud, a space, 
Nor urge too fast thy liquid race 
Through fields of day! for while thou lingerest here, 
Soft hazy gleams from thee descending, 
Present, and past, and future blending, 
Renew the vision lov'd, our glorious trial-year. 
The sainted monarch lights again our aisles 
With his own calm foreboding smiles, 

(Not courtly smiles, nor earthly bred,) 
Sobering Pleasure's airy wiles, 

And taming War's too haughty tread. 
Around him wait, a grave, white-robed throng, 
The chosen angels of the Church he loves : 
Guided by them, in her meek power he moves 
On to that brightest crown, prepared for him ere long. 


And mailed forms are there, 
Such as heroic spirits wear, 
Seal'd for high deeds in yon ethereal halls. 

on the Installation of the Duke of Wellington. 7 

Oh if th' Elysian dream 
Were true, and with emerging gleam 
Dread warrior shades at fated intervals 

Were seen like stars returning, 

And ever brighter burning, 
Well might our shrines and bowers their Ormond hail, 

Friend of his king, reviv'd in thee, 
Ere, quite expiring, on the base earth fail 

The trodden spark of loyalty. 

Ormond, who paced the tottering deck, 

Upright amid a nation's wreck, 

Who spurn' d the boon the traitor gave a , 

And slumber'd fearless on the wave. — 

Warrior ! be such our course and thine ! 
The eye that never sleeps 

With undecaying fires benign 
Will guide us o'er the deeps. 

a See Clarendon, vi. 1184, Edit. Oxf. 1819. "The Lord Lieutenant, about 
the middle of December, 1650, embarked himself in a small vessel for France, 
after he had refused to receive a pass from Ireton, who offered it ; choosing 
rather to trust the seas and winds, in that rough and boisterous season of 
the year, than to receive an obligation from the rebels." 

Th£ Three $.bsolutkms 

" And there shall in nowise enter into it any thing that de- 
fileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh 
a lie ; but they which are written in the Lamb's Book of Life. — 
Rev. xxi. 27. 

Each morn and eve, the Golden Keys c , 

Are lifted in the sacred hand, 
To shew the sinner on his knees 

Where Heaven's bright doors wide open stand. 

On the dread Altar duly laid 

The Golden Keys their witness bear, 

That not in vain the Church hath pray'd, 
That He, the Life of souls, is there. 

b I. In the Daily Service; II. In the Communion ; III. In the Visitation 
of the Sick. 

c This, and the forty-four poems which follow it, are printed in the Lyra 
Aj>ostolica, and distinguished by the signature y. 

The Three Absolutio7is. 

Full of the past, all shuddering thought, 
Man waits his hour with upward eye d 

The Golden Keys in love are brought, 
That he may hold by them and die. 

But touch them trembling ; for that gold 
Proves iron in the unworthy hand, 

To close, not ope, the favoured fold, 
To bind, not loose, the lost soul's band. 

d Vid. Death-bed Scenes. " The Barton Family." §. 3. 


6 Tie which testifieth these things, saith, Surely 
I come quickly." — Rev. xxii. 20. 

Fear not : for He hath sworn : 
Faithful and true His name : 
The glorious hours are onward borne \ 
Tis lit, th' immortal flame ; 
It glows around thee : kneel, and strive, and win 
Daily one living ray — 'twill brighter glow within. 

Yet fear : the time is brief; 

The Holy One is near ; 
And, like a spent and wither'd leaf 
In autumn-twilight drear, 
Faster each hour, on Time's un slackening gale, 
The dreaming world drives on, to where all visions 

Encouragement. t i 

Surely the time is short : 

Endless the task and art, 
To brighten for the ethereal court 
A soil'd earth-drudging heart. — 
But He, the dread Proclaimer of that hour, 
Is pledged to thee in Love, as to thy foes in Power. 

His shoulders bear the Key : 

He opens — who can close ? 
Closes — and who dare open ? — He 
Thy soul's misgiving knows. 
If He come quick, the mightier sure will prove 
His Spirit in each heart that timely strives to love. 

Then haste Thee, Lord ! Come down, 

Take Thy great power, and reign ! 
But frame Thee first a perfect Crown 
Of spirits freed from stain, 
Souls mortal once, now match'd for evermore 
With the immortal gems that form'd Thy wreath 

1 2 Encouragement. 

Who in Thy portal wait, 

Free of that glorious throng, 
Wondering, review their trial-state, 
The life that erst seem'd long ; 
Wondering at His deep love, who purged so base 
And earthly mould so soon for th* undenled place. 


Bemtrament. — Eesignatfcm. 

1 Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and 
ashes." — yob xlh. 6. 

And dare I say, " Welcome to me 
The pang that proves Thee near ?" 

O words, too oft on bended knee 
Breathed to th' Unerring Ear. 

While the cold spirit silently 
Pines at the scourge severe. 

Nay, try once more — thine eyelids close 

For prayer intense and meek : 
When the warm light gleams through and shews 

Him near who helps the weak. 
Unmurmuring then thy heart's repose 

In dust and ashes seek. 

1 4 Bereavement. — Resignation. 

But when the self-abhorring thrill 
Is past, as pass it must, 

When tasks of life thy spirit fill, 
Risen from thy tears and dust, 

Then be the self-renouncing will 
The seal of thy calm trust. 


Burial oi the IheaxL 

I thought to meet no more, so dreaiy seem'd 
Death's interposing veil, and thou so pure, 

Thy place in Paradise 

Beyond where I could soar ; 

Friend of this worthless heart ! but happier thoughts 
Spring like unbidden violets from the sod, 

Where patiently thou tak'st 

Thy sweet and sure repose. 

The shadows fall more soothing : the soft air 
Is full of cheering whispers like thine own ; 

While Memory, by thy grave, 

Lives o'er thy funeral day ; 

The deep knell dying down, the mourners pause, 
Waiting their Saviour's welcome at the gate. — 

Sure with the words of Heaven 

Thy spirit met us there. 

1 6 Burial of the Dead. 

And sought with us along th* accustonYd way 
The hallow'd porch, and entering in, beheld 
The pageant of sad joy, 
So dear to Faith and Hope. 

O ! hadst thou brought a strain from Paradise 
To cheer us, happy soul, thou hadst not touch'd 

The sacred springs of grief 

More tenderly and true, 

Than those deep-warbled anthems, high and low, 
Low as the grave, high as th' Eternal Throne, 
Guiding through light and gloom 
Our mourning fancies wild, 

Till gently, like soft golden clouds at eve 
Around the western twilight, all subside 
Into a placid faith, 
That even with beaming eye 

Counts thy sad honours, coffin, bier, and pall ; 
So many relics of a frail love lost, 

So many tokens dear 

Of endless love besom. 

Burial of the Dead. \ 

Listen ! it is no dream : th' Apostles 1 trump 
Gives earnest of th' Archangel's ; — calmly now 

Our hearts yet beating high 

To that victorious lay. 

Most like a warrior's to the martial dirge 
Of a true comrade, in the grave we trust 

Our treasure for awhile : 

And if a tear steal down, 

If human anguish o'er the shaded brow 

Pass shuddering, when the handful of pure earth 

Touches the coffin-lid ; 

If at our brother's name, 

Once and again the thought, " for ever gone," 
Come o'er us like a cloud ; yet, gentle spright, 
Thou turnest not away, 
Thou know'st us calm at heart. 

One look, and we have seen our last of thee, 
Till we too sleep and our long sleep be o'er. 
O cleanse us, ere we view 
That countenance pure again, 

1 8 Burial of the Dead. 

Thou, who canst change the heart, and raise the 
dead ! 

As Thou art by to soothe our parting hour, 
Be ready when we meet, 
With Thy dear pardoning words. 

Note. — This poem was intended for the " Burial of the Dead " in the first 
MS. of the Christian Year, but was afterwards changed for "Who says, the 
wan autumnal sun?" which had been intended for the Sixteenth Sunday 
after Trinity. 


lighting; xxf kamps. 

Lights in the Temple. 

" And Aaron shall burn thereon sweet incense every morning : 
when he dresseth the lamps he shall burn incense upon it. And 
when Aaron lighteth the lamps at even, he shall burn incense 
upon it ; a perpetual incense before the Lord, throughout your 
generations." — Exod. xxx. 7, 8. 

Now the stars are lit in heaven, 
We must light our lamps on earth : 

Every star a signal given 

From the God of our new birth : 

Every lamp an answer faint, 

Like the prayer of mortal Saint. 

Mark the hour and turn this way, 

Sons of Israel, far and near ! 
Wearied with the world's dim day, 

Turn to Him whose eyes are here, 
Open, watching day and night, 
Beaming unapproached light ! 

L ighting of La nips. 

With sweet oil-drops in His hour 
Feed the branch of many lights, 

Token of protecting power, 
Pledg'd to faithful Israelites, 

Emblem of the anointed Home, 

When the glory deigns to come. 

Watchers of the sacred flame, 
Sons of Aaron ! serve in fear, — 

Deadly is th' avenger's aim, 

Should th' unhallowed enter here ; 

Keen His fires, should recreants dare 

Breathe the pure and fragrant air. 

There is One will bless your toil — 
He who comes in Heaven's attire, 

Morn by morn, with holy oil ; 
Eve by eve, with holy fire ! 

Pray ! — your prayer will be allowed, 

Mingling with His incense cloud ! 


lights at Vespers. 

' ' Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the Light 
of the world : he that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, 
but shall have the light of life." — St. John viii. 12. 

Full many an eve, and many a morn, 

The holy Lamps have blazed and died ; 
The floor by knees of sinners worn, 
The mystic altar's golden horn, 
Age after age have witness borne 
To faith that on a lingering Saviour cried. 

" At evening time there shall be light" — 
? Twas said of old — 'tis wrought to-day : 
Now, with the stoled priest in sight, 
The perfumed embers quivering bright 
Ere yet the ceiling's spangled height 
The glory catch of the new-kindled ray ! 

2 Lights at Vespers. 

A voice not loud, but thrilling clear, 

On hearts prepared falls benign : — 
"lam the world's true Light : who hear 
And follow Me, no darkness fear, 
Nor waning eve, nor changing year ; 
The Light of Life is theirs : pure Light of Life 
divine !" 


lights in the %p$et Chamber. 

"And there were many lights in the upper chamber, where 
they were gathered together." — Acts xx. 8. 

He spake : He died and rose again — 

And now His Spirit lights 
The hallowed fires o'er land and main, 

And every heart invites. 

They glow : but not in gems and gold 

With cedar arched o'er ; 
But in far nooks obscure and cold, 

On many a cabin floor : 

When the true soldiers steal an hour 

To break the bread of Life, 
And drink the draught of love and power, 

And plan the holy strife. 

24 Lights in the Upper Chamber. 

Ye humble Tapers, fearless burn — 
Ere in the morn ye fade, 

Ye shall behold a soul return, 
Even from the last dim shade : 

That all may know what love untold 
Attends the chosen race, 

Whom apostolic arms enfold, 
Who cling to that embrace. 

And wheresoe'er a cottage light 
Is trimmed for evening prayer, 

Faith may recall that wondrous night - 
Who raised the dead, is there. 

The ^huruhman ic his &amp* 

Light in the Closet. 

Come, twinkle in my lonely room, 
Companion true in hours of gloom ; 
Come, light me on a little space, 
The heavenly vision to retrace, 
By Saints and Angels loved so well, — 
My Mother's glories ere she fell. 

There was a time, my friendly Lamp, 

When, far and wide, in Jesus' camp, 

Oft as the foe dark inroads made, 

They watch d and fasted, wept and prayed ; 

But now, they feast and slumber on, 

And say, " Why pine o'er evil done ?" 

26 TJie Churchman to his Lamp. 

Then hours of Prayer, in welcome round, 
lar-sevefd hearts together bound : 
Seven times a-day, on bended knee, 
They to their Saviour cried ; and we — 
One hour we rind in seven long days, 
Before our God to sit and gaze ! 

Then, lowly Lamp, a ray like thine 
Waked half the world to hymns divine ; 
Now it is much if here and there 
One dreamer, by the genial glare, 
Trace the dim Past, and slowly climb 
The steep of Faith's triumphant prime. 

Yet by His grace, whose breathing gives 

Life to the faintest spark that lives, 

I trim thee, precious Lamp, once more, 

Our fathers' armoury to explore, 

And sort and number wistfully 

A few bright weapons, bathed on high. 

The Churchman to his Lamp. 27 

And may thy guidance ever tend 

Where gentle thoughts with courage blend ; 

Thy pure and steady gleaming rest 

On pages with the Cross imprest ; 

Till, touch'd with lightning of calm zeal, 

Our fathers' very heart we feel. 

The Watch hi} Bight. 

"And Uriah said unto David, The ark, and Israel, and 
Judah, abide in tents ; and my lord Joab, and the servants of 
my lord, are encamped in the open fields ; shall I then go into 
mine house, to eat and to drink ? .... As thou livest, and as 
thy soul liveth, I will not do this thing." — 2 Sam. xi. n. 

The Ark of God is in the field, 
Like clouds around the alien armies sweep ; 

Each by his spear, beneath his shield, 
In cold and dew the anointed warriors sleep. 

And can it be thou liest awake, 
Sworn w r atchman, tossing on thy couch of down ? 

And doth thy recreant heart not ache 
To hear the sentries round the leaguer'd town ? 

Oh. dream no more of quiet life ; 
Care finds the careless out : more wise to vow 

Thine heart entire to Faith's pure strife ; 
So peace will come, thou know'st not when or how 

2 9 

Christian $hivalrtj. 

The Vigil. 

" Silence, unworthy ! how should tones like thine 
Blend with the warnings of the good and true? 
God hath no need of waverers round His shrine : 
What hath th' unclean with Heaven's high cause 

to do?" 
Thus in the deep of many a shrinking heart 
The murmurings swell and heave of sad remorse, 
And dull the soul, that else would keenly dart 
Fearless along her heaven-illumin'd course. 
But, wayward doubter, lift one glance on high ; 
What banner streams along thy destin'd way ? 
The pardoning Cross, — His Cross who deign'd to die 
To cleanse th' impure for His own bright array. 
Wash thee in His dear blood, and trembling wear 
His holy Sign, and take thy station there. 

30 Christian Chivalry. 


Wash thee, and watch thine armour ; as of old 

The champions vow'd of Truth and Purity, 

Ere the bright mantle might their limbs enfold, 

Or spear of theirs in knightly combat vie, 

Three summer nights outwatch'd the stars on high, 

And found the time too short for busy dreams, 

Pageants of airy prowess dawning nigh, 

And fame far hovering with immortal beams. 

And more than prowess theirs, and more than fame \ 

Xo dream, but an abiding consciousness 

Of an approving God, a righteous aim, 

An arm outstretch'd to guide them and to bless : 

Firm as steel bows for Angels' warfare bent 

They went abroad, not knowing where they went. 


For why ? the sacred Pentecostal eve 
Had bathed them with its own inspiring dew, 
And gleams more bright than summer sunsets leave 
Lingering well-nigh to meet the morn's fresh hue, 

Christian Chivalry. 31 

Dwelt on each heart ; as erst in memory true, 

The Spirit's chosen heralds o'er all lands 

Bore the bright tongues of fire. Thus, firm and 

Now, in our fallen time, might faithful bands 
Move on th' eternal way, the goal in sight, 
Nor to the left hand swerve for gale or shower, 
Nor pleasure win them, wavering to the right : 
Alone with Heaven they were that awful hour, 
When their oath seal'd them to the war of Faith ; 
Alone they will be in the hour of death. 


To a Thrush Singing in tlue Iftidxlte 
of a tillage, Jan. 1833, 

Sweet bird ! up earliest in the mom, 

Up earliest in the year, 
Far in the quiet mist are borne 

Thy matins soft and clear. 

As linnet soft, and clear as lark, 
Well hast thou ta'en thy part, 

Where many an ear thy notes may reach, 
And here and there a heart. 

The first snow-wreaths are scarcely gone, 
(They stayed but half a day) 

The berries bright hang ling'ring on ; 
Yet thou hast learn'd thy lay. 

To a Thrush Singing, &C. 33 

One gleam, one gale of western air 

Has hardly brushed thy wing ; 
Yet thou hast given thy welcome fair, 

Good-morrow to the spring ! 

Perhaps within thy carol's sound 

Some wakeful mourner lies, 
Dim roaming days and years around, 

That ne'er again may rise. 

He thanks thee with a tearful eye, 

For thou hast wing'd his spright 
Back to some hour when hopes were nigh 

And dearest friends in sight ; 

That simple, fearless note ot thine 

Has pierced the cloud of care, 
And lit awhile the gleam divine 

That bless'd his infant prayer ; 

Ere he had known, his faith to blight, 

The scorner's withering smile ; 
While hearts, he deem'd, beat true and right, 

Here in our Christian Isle. 


34 To a Thrush Singing, ore. 

That sunny, morning glimpse is gone, 
That morning note is still ; 

The dun dark day comes lowering on, 
The spoilers roam at will ; 

Yet calmly rise, and boldly strive ; 

The sweet bird's early song, 
Ere evening fall shall oft revive, 

And cheer thee all day long. 

Are we not sworn to serve our King ? 

He sworn with us to be ? 
The birds that chant before the spring, 

Are truer far than we. 


The Jtfri^an Bhntch* 

" The gifts and calling of God are without repentance." 
Rom. xi. 29. 

The lions prowl around, thy grave to guard, 

And Moslem prayers profane 
At morn and eve come sounding : yet unscared 

The Holy Shades remain :— 
Cyprian, thy chief of watchmen, wise and bold, 

Trusting the lore of his own loyal heart, 
And Cyprian's Master, as in age high-souFd, 

Yet choosing as in youth the better part. 
There, too, unwearied Austin, thy keen gaze 

On Atlas' steep, a thousand years and more, 
Dwells, waiting for the first rekindling rays, 

When Truth upon the solitary shore 
For the fall'n West may light his beacon as of yore. 


" The night is far spent, the day is at hand." — Rom. xiii. 12. 

Voice of the wise of old ! 
Go breathe thy thrilling whispers now 
In cells where learned eyes late vigils hold, 

And teach proud Science where to vail her brow. 

Voice of the meekest man ! 
Now while the Church for combat arms, 
Calmly do thou confirm her awful ban, 

Thy words to her be conquering, soothing charms. 

Voice of the fearless Saint ! 
Ring like a trump, where gentle hearts 
Beat high for truth, but, doubting, cower and faint : — 
Tell them, the hour is come, and they must take 
their parts. 


The One Way. 

' That we should earnestly contend for the faith that was once 
[for all] delivered unto the saints. " — St. Jude 3. 

One only Way to life : 
One Faith, delivered once for all \ 
One holy Band, endow'd with Heaven's high call ; 

One earnest, endless strife ; — 
This is the Church th' Eternal framed of old. 

Smooth open ways, good store ; 
A Creed for every clime and age, 
By Mammon's touch new moulded o'er and o'er ; 

No cross, no war to wage ; 
This is the Church our earth-dimm'd eyes behold. 

38 Dissent. 

But ways must have an end, 
Creeds undergo the trial-flame, 
Nor with th' impure the Saints for ever blend, 

Heaven's glory with our shame : — 
Think on that hour, and choose 'twixt soft and bold. 


het us Impart Iftmce \ 


Is there no sound about our Altars heard 

Of gliding forms that long have watched in vain 
For slumbering discipline to break her chain, 

And aim the bolt by Theodosius fear'd ? 

u Let us depart ;" — these English souls are sear'd, 
Who, for one grasp of perishable gold, 
Would brave the curse by holy men of old 

Laid on the robbers of the shrines they rear'd \ 

e MeTaj3ouV(o/xei> evTevflev. Among the portents which took place before the 
taking of Jerusalem by the Romans, the following is mentioned by Josephus • 
" During the festival which is called Pentecost, the priests, by night, having 
come into the inner temple to perform their services, as was their custom, re- 
ported that they perceived, first a motion, a noise, and then they heard as it 
were a great crowd, saying, ' Let us depart hence.'" Vide Bishop Newton 
on the Prophecies, vol. ii. Dissert. 18. 

40 Let us Depart Hence, 

Who shout for joy to see the ruffian band 
Come to reform, where ne'er they came to pray, 
E'en where, unbidden, Seraphs never trod. 
Let us depart, and leave the apostate land 
To meet the rising whirlwind as she may, 
Without her guardian Angels and her God. 


Jtthanasian $we&. 

" Seek we some realm where virgin souls may pray 
In faith untarnish'd by the sophist's scorn, 
And duly raise on each diviner morn 
The Psalm that gathers in one glorious lay 
All chants that e'er from heaven to earth found way 
Majestic march ! as meet to guide and time 
Man's wandering path in life's ungenial clime. 
As Aaron's trump for the dread Ark's array. 
Creed of the Saints, and Anthem of the Blest, 
And calm-breathed warning of the kindliest love 
That ever heaved a wakeful mother's breast, 
(True love is bold, and gravely dares reprove.) 
Who knows but myriads owe their endless rest 
To thy recalling, tempted else to rove ? 


Burial Service. 

And they who grudge the Omnipotent His praise 
What wonder if they grudge the dead his hope ? 
The irreverent, restless eye finds room and scope, 

E'en by the grave, to wrangle, pry, and gaze. 

Heaven in its mercy hides, but man displays ; 

Heaven throws a gleam, where they would darken 

A shade, where they, forgetting worm and pall, 

Sing triumph ; they excite, but Heaven allays. 
Alas, for England's mourners, if denied 
The soothing tones of Hope, though faint and low. 
Or swoln up high with partial tearless pride ! 
Better in silence hide their dead, and go, 
Than sing a hopeless dirge, or coldly chide 
The faith that owns release from earthly woe. 


hmgth txf the frayurs, 

" Bui" Faith is cold, and wilful men are strong, 

And the blithe world, with bells and harness proud, 
Rides tinkling by, so musical and loud, 

It drowns the Eternal Word, the Angelic Song ; 

And one by one the weary, listless throng 

Steals out of church, and leaves the choir unseen 
Of winged guards to weep, where prayer had been, 

That souls immortal find that hour too long. 
Most fatal token of a falling age ! 
Wit ever busy, Learning ever new, 
Unsleeping Fancy, Eloquence untir'd ; — 
Prayer only dull ! The Saints' and Martyrs' page 
A tedious scroll ; the scorn' d and faithful few 
Left to bewail such beauty undesired." 


% Eemnant, 

Sons of our Mother ! such the indignant strain 
Might haply strike, this hour, a pastor's ear, 
Purged to discern, for once, the aerial train 
Of heavenly sentinels yet lingering here ; 
And what if, blending with the chant austere, 
A soft inviting note attune the close ? 

u We go : — but faithful hearts will find us near, 
Who cling beside their Mother in her woes, 
Who love the Rites that erst their fathers lov'd, 
Xor tire of David's Hymn, and Jesus' Prayer : — 
Their quiet Altars, wheresoeer remov'd, 
Shall clear with incense sweet the unholy air ; 
In persecution safe, in scorn approv'd, 
Angels, and He who rules them, will be there." 


The Patriot. 

11 Thou tallest away to the Chaldeans." — Jer. xxxvii. 13. 

They say, " The man is false, and falls away :" 
Yet sighs my soul in secret for their pride ; 

Tears are mine hourly food, and night and day 
I plead for them, and may not be denied. 

They say, " His words unnerve the warrior's hand, 
And dim the statesman's eye, and disunite 

The friends of Israel :" yet, in every land, 

My words, to Faith, are Peace, and Hope, and 


They say, " The frenzied one is fain to see 

Glooms of his own ; and gathering storms afar ; — 

But dungeons deep, and fetters strong have we." 
Alas ! Heaven's lightning would ye chain and bar ? 

Ye scorners of th' Eternal ! wait one hour ; 
In His seer's weakness ye shall see His power. 


The ftuler of the Nations. 

" I have set thee this day over the nations, and over the 
kingdoms." — Jer. i. 10. 

" The Lord hath set me o'er the kings of earth, 
To fasten and uproot, to build and mar ; 
Not by mine own fond will : else never war 

Had still'd in Anathoth the voice of mirth. 

Nor from my native tribe swept bower and hearth : 
Ne'er had the light of Judah's royal star 
FaiFd in mid heaven, nor trampling steed and car 

Ceas'd from the courts that saw Josiah's birth. 

'Tis not in me to give or take away, 

But He who guides the thunder-peals on high, 

He tunes my voice, the tones of His deep sway 

Faintly to echo in the nether sky. 

Therefore I bid earth's glories set or shine, 
And it is so ; my words are sacraments divine." 


The &wngev. 

1 ' This man is worthy to die : for he hath prophesied against 
this city." — Jer. xxvi. 1 1. 

" No joy of mine to invite the thunder down, 
No pride, th' uprising whirlwind to survey, 

How gradual from the north, with hideous frown 
It veers in silence round the horizon grey, 
And one by one sweeps the bright isles away, 

Where fondly gaz'd the men of worldly peace, 
Dreaming fair weather would outlast their day. 

Now the big storm-drops fall, their dream must 
cease — 

They know it well, and fain their ire would wreak 
On the dread arm that wields the bolt ; but He 

Is out of reach, therefore on me they turn • — 

On me, that am but voice, fading and weak, 
A withered leaf inscribed with Heaven's decree, 
And blown where haply some in fear may learn." 


Thu Hut-aid of Wou. 

" I said, I will not make mention of him .... But his word 
was in mine heart as a burning fire." — Jer. xx. 9. 

u Sad privilege is mine, to shew 
What hour, which way, the bitter streams will flow. 

Oft have I said, ' enough — no more 
To uncharm'd ears th' unearthly strain I pour ! ' 

But the dread word its way would win, 
E'en as a burning fire my bones within. 

And I was forced to tell aloud 
My tale of warning to the reckless proud." 
Awful warning ! yet in love 

Breathed on each believing ear, 
How Heaven in wrath would seem to move 
The landmarks of a thousand year, 
And from the tablets of th' eternal sky 
The covenant oath erase of God Most High. 
That hour, full timely was the leaf unroll'd, 
Which to the man belov'd the years of bondage told, 
And till his people's chain should be outworn, 
Assign'd him for his lot times past and times unborn. 


Th£ Bomfaxtev. 

'O ye remnant of Judah, go ye not into Egypt."- Jer. xlii. 19. 

" O sweetly timed, as e'er was gentle hand 

Of mother press'd on weeping infant's brow, 
Is every sign that to His fallen land 

Th' Almighty sends by prophet mourners now 
The glory from the ark is gone, — 

The mystic cuirass gleams no more, 
In answer from the Holy One, — 
Low lies the temple, wondrous store 
Of mercies seal'd with blood each eve and morn ; 
Yet Heaven hath tokens for faith's eye forlorn. 

" Heaven by my mouth was fain to stay 

The pride that, in our evil day, 

Would fain have struggled in Chaldea's chain : 

Nay kiss the rod : th' Avenger needs must reign ; 


50 The Comforter. 

And now, though every shrine is still, 
Speaks out by me the unchanging Will ; 
' Seek not to Egypt ; there the curse will come \ 
But, till the woe be past, round Canaan roam, 
And meekly 'bide your hour beside your ruin'd 
home. ; " 



u I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now 
mine eye seeth Thee." — Job xlii. 5. 

Tvvas on the day f when England's Church of yore 
Hail'd the New Year — a day to angels known, 

Since holy Gabriel to meek Mary bore 

The presence-token of th' Incarnate Son — 
Up a low vale a Shepherd strayed alone ; 

Slow was his step and lowly bent his eye, 

Save when at times a thought of tasks undone 

His waken'd wincing memory stung too nigh : 
Then startled into speed, else wandering wearily. 

f The above was written March 25, 1833, whilst the Irish Church Bill 
was in progress. 

5 2 



A Shepherd he, but not of lambs and ewes, 

But of that flock redeem'd with precious Blood ; 
Thoughtless too oft, now deeply seen to muse 
O'er the cold lea and by the rushing flood, 
And where the pathway skirts the leafless 
And the heap'd snow, in mockery of the spring, 

Lies mantling primrose flower and cowslip bud, 
And scared birds forget to build and sing, 
So rudely the cold North has brush'd each tender 


These Easter snows, of evil do they bode? 

Of Faith's fair blossoms withering ere their 
prime ; 
And of a glorious Church that early glow'd 

Bright as yon crown of stars in cold clear 

That never sets, pride of our arctic clime, 

Sacrilege. 53 

Now deeply plunged where tempests drive and 
Wavering and flickering, while rude gusts of 
Rush here and there across th' ethereal deep, 
And scarce one golden isle her station seems to keep ? 


Nay, — 'tis our human eyes, our airs of earth, 

That waver ■ yet on high th' unquenched stars 
Blaze as they blazed, and in their might go forth : 

The Spouse of Heaven nor crime nor rapine mars. 

But the Most High permits these earthly jars, 
That souls yet hearing only, may awake 

And see Him near, and feel and own the bars 
Twixt them and Him. O be Thou near, to make 
The worldly dream dissolve, the seared conscience 
ache ! 

But chiefly theirs, who at Thine Altar serve, 

And for the souls elect Thy life-blood pour ; 
O grief and shame, when aged pastors swerve 

To the base world or wild schismatic lore. 

54 Sacrilege. 

Alas, too lightly, by Thine open door, 
They had been listening ; not within the shrine 

Kneeling in Christian calmness to adore, 
Else had they held untired by Thee and Thine : 
Xor gain nor fancy then had lured them from Thy 

Lord of a world in years, a Church decayed, 
If from Thy whirlwind answering, as of old 

Thou with the vile wilt plead, till we have laid 
Our hand upon our mouth, and truly told 
Our tale of contrite faith — (O not too bold 

The prayer) — then welcome whirlwind, anger, woe. 
Welcome the flash that wakes the slumbering fold 

Th' Almighty Pastor s arm and eye to know, 
And turn their dreamy talk to holy Fear's stern glow. 


United States. 

" Because that Tyrus hath said against Jerusalem, Aha, she 
is broken that was the gates of the people : she is turned unto 
me : I shall be replenished, now she is laid waste : There- 
fore thus saith the Lord God ; Behold, I am against thee, 
O Tyrus."-— Ezek. xxvi. 2, 3. 

Tyre of the farther s West ! be thou too warn'd 
Whose eagle wings thine own green world o'er- 
Touching two oceans : wherefore hast thou scorn'd 

Thy fathers' God, O proud and full of bread ? 
Why lies the Cross unhonour'd on thy ground, 

While in mid air thy stars and arrows flaunt ? 
That sheaf of darts, will it not fall unbound, 
Except, disrob'd of thy vain earthly vaunt, 
Thou bring it to be bless'd where Saints and Angels 
haunt ? 

8 This expression refers to the poem which immediately preceded it in che 
Lyra Apostolica, beginning "Tyre of the West." It was signed 5, and is 
reprinted in Dr. Newman's poems. 

5 6 Ufiited States. 

The holy seed, by Heaven's peculiar grace, 

Is rooted here and there in thy dark woods ; 
But many a rank weed round it grows apace, 

And Mammon builds beside thy mighty floods, 
O'ertopping Nature, braving Nature's God. 

O while thou yet hast room, fair fruitful land, 
Ere war and want have stain'd thy virgin sod, 

Mark thee a place on high, a glorious stand, 
Whence Truth her sign may make o'er forest, lake, 
and strand. 

Eastward, this hour, perchance thou turn'st thine ear, 

Listening if haply with the surging sea, 
Blend sounds of Ruin from a land once dear 

To thee and Heaven. O trying hour for thee ! 
Tyre mock'd when Salem fell : where now is Tyre ? 

Heaven was against her. Nations thick as waves 
Burst o'er her walls, to ocean doom'd and fire : 

And now the tideless water idly laves 
Her towers, and lone sands heap her crowned mer- 
chants' graves. 


6hawpkms at i\\% Truth* 

The Watchman. 

' ' Who will go for us ? Then said I, Here am I ; 
send me." — Isa. vi. 8. 

Dull thunders moan around the Temple Rock, 

And deep in hollow caves, far underneath, 
The lonely watchman feels the sullen shock, 

His footsteps timing as the low winds breathe ; 
Hark ! from the Shrine is ask'd, What stedfast heart 
Dares in the storm go forth ? Who takes th' Al- 
mighty's part ? 

And with a bold gleam flushed, full many a brow 
Is rais'd to say, " Behold me, Lord, and send." 

But ere the words be breathed, some broken vow 
Remember'd, ties the tongue \ and sadly blend 

With Faith's pure incense, clouds of conscience dim, 
And faltering tones of guilt mar the Confessor's hymn. 


Tlue Breed. 

If waiting by the time-crown'd halls, 
Which nurtured us for Christ in youth, 
We love to watch on the grey walls 
The lingering gleam of Evangelic Truth ; 
If to the spoilers of the soul, 
Proudly we shew our banner'd scroll, 
And bid them our old war-cry hear, 
" God is my Light h : whom need I fear !" 
How bleak, that hour, across our purpose high, 
Sweeps the chill damping shade of thoughtless years 
gone by ! 

How count we then lost eve and morn, 
The bell unwelcom'd, prayer unsaid, 

And holy hours and days outworn 
In youth's wild race, Sin's lesson newly read ! 

" Dominus illuminatio mea " is the motto of the University of Oxford. 

The Creed. 59 

Then deem we, " ill could Angels brook 
That lore that on our lips we took, 
On lips profane celestial lore :" 
And hardly dare we keep the door, 
Though sentries sworn : the memory thrills so 
How with unready hearts at first we ventured in. 



But sadder strains, and direr bodings dark, 
Come haunting round th' Almighty's captive ark, 
By proud Philistian hosts beset, 
With axe and dagger newly whet 
To hew the holy gold away, 
And seize their portion as they may. 
Fain would we fix th' unswerving foot, and bare 
The strong right arm, to share 
The glorious holy war; but how undo 
The knot our father tied ? Are we not spoilers too ? 

How for God's Altar may that arm be bold, 
Where cleaves the rust of sacrilege of old? 
Oh, would my country once believe, 
But once her contrite bosom heave, 
And but in wish or vow restore 
But one fair shrine despoil'd of yore ! 

Spoliation 6 1 

How would the windows of th' approving sky 
Shower down the dews on high ! 
Arm'd Levites then, within the Temple dome, 
Might we the foe await, nor yet profane God's home. 

Vain disappointing dream ! but oh ! not vain, 
If haply on the wakening heart remain 
The vow of pure self-sacrifice, 
The conscience yearning to devise 
How God may have His treasure lost, 
And we not serve Him without cost. 
To such methought I heard an Angel say, 
" Offer not all to-day, 
While spoilers keep the shrine : yet offer all, 
Treasurer of God's high cause : half priestly is thy 


Church and King* 

Nor wants there Seraph warnings, morn and eve, 
And oft as to the holiest Shrine we bear 
Our pure, unbloody gifts, what time our prayer 

In Heaven's sure ward all Christian kings would 
, leave. 

Why should that prayer be faltering? Wherefore heave 

. With sadness loyal hearts, when hallow'd air 
That solemn suffrage hears ? Alas ! our care 

Is not for storms without, but stains that cleave 
Ingrain'd in memory, wandering thoughts profane ; 

Or worse, proud thoughts of our instructress meek, 
The duteous Church, Heaven-prompted to that 

Thus, when high mercy for our King we seek, 

Back on our wincing hearts our prayers are blown 
By our own sins, worst foes to England's throne. 

And with our own, the offences of our land 
Too well agree to build our burthen high, 

Christ's charter blurr'd with coarse, usurping hand, 

Church and Ki?ig. 6$ 

And gall'd with yoke of feudal tyranny 
The shoulders where the keys of David lie. 

Angel of England ! who might thee withstand ? 
Who for the spoil'd and trampled Church deny 

Thy suit in Heaven's high courts, might one true 

Of holy brethren, breathing English air, 

Be found, their Cross in thine array to bear, 
And for their Mother cast earth's dreams away ? 

Till then, all gaily as our pennons glance, 

And at the trumpet's call the brave heart dance, 
In fear and grief for Church and King we pray. 

6 4 

(From Bagley, at 8 a.m.) 

The flood is round thee, but thy towers as yet 
Are safe, and clear as by a summer's sea 
Pierce the calm morning mist, serene and free, 
To point in silence heavenward. There are met 
Thy foster-children ; — there in order set 

Their nursing fathers, sworn to Heaven and thee 
(An oath renew'd this hour on bended knee,) 
Ne'er to betray their Mother nor forget. — 
Lo ! on the top of each aerial spire 
What seems a star by day, so high and bright, 
It quivers from afar in golden light ■ 
But 'tis a form of earth, though touch'd with fire 
Celestial, rais'd in other days to tell 
How, when they tired of prayer, Apostles fell. 




11 The Lord thy God is a consuming fire." — DeuL iv. 24. 

Nadab and Abihu. 

" Away, or e'er the Lord break forth ! 

The pure ethereal air 
Cannot abide the spark of earth, 

'Twill lighten and not spare." 

" Nay, but we know our call divine, 

We feel our hearts sincere ; 
What boots it where we light our shrine, 

If bright it blaze and clear?" 

God of the unconsuming fire, 

On Horeb seen of old, 
Stay, Jealous One, Thy burning ire ... . 

It may not be controlled ! 


66 Fire. 

The Lord breaks out, the unworthy die \ 

Lo ! on the cedar floor 
The robed and mitred corses lie — 

Be silent and adore. 

Yet sure a holy seed were they, 
Pure hands had o'er them past, 

Cuirass and crown, their bright array, 
In Heaven's high mould were cast. 

Th' atoning blood had drench'4 them o'er, 
The mystic balm had seal'd ; 

And may the blood atone no more, 
No charm the anointing yield ? 

Silence, ye brethren of the dead, 

Ye Father's tears, be still \ 
But choose them out a lonely bed, 

Beside the mountain rill ; 

Then bear them as they lie, their brows 
Scath'd with the avenging fire, 

And wearing (sign of broken vows) 
The blest, the dread attire. 

Fire. 6 7 

Nor leave unwept their desert grave, 
But mourn their pride and thine, 

Oft as rebellious thought shall crave 
To question words divine. 


The burning at Taherah. 

The fire of Heaven breaks forth, 
When haughty Reason pries too near, 
Weighing th' eternal mandate's worth 
In philosophic scales of earth, 
Selecting these for scorn, and those for holy fear. 

Nor burns it only then : 
The poor that are not poor in heart, — 
Who say, " The bread of Christian men, 
We loathe it, o'er and o'er again," — 
The murmurers in the camp, must feel the blazing dart. 

Far from the Lord's tent-door, 
And therefore bold to sin, are they : 

" What should we know of Faith's high lore ?" 
Oh ! plead not so — there's wrath in store, 
And tempered to our crimes the lightnings find 
their way. 

6 9 

ICorah, Uathan, and Jrturam, 

Dathan and Abiram. 

" How long endure this priestly scorn, 

Ye sons of Israel's eldest born ? 

Shall two, the meanest of their tribe, 

To the Lord's host the way prescribe, 

And feed our wildering phantasy 

With every soothing dream and lie 

Their craft can coin ? We see our woe, 

Lost Egypt's plenty well we know : 

But where the milk and honey ? — where 

The promised fields and vineyards fair ? 

Lo ! wise of heart and keen of sight 

Are these — ye cannot blind them quite — 

Not as our sires are we : we fear not open light. " 

70 Korah) Dathan, and Abiram. 


And we too, Levites though we be, 
We love the song of liberty. 
Did we not hear the Mountain Voice 
Proclaim the Lord's impartial choice ? 
The camp is holy, great and small, 
Levites and Danites, one and all ; 
Our God His home in all will make. — 
What if no priestly finger strake 
Or blood or oil o'er robe or brow, 
Will He not hear His people's vow ? 
Lord of all Earth, will He no sign 
Grant but to Aaron's haughty line ? 
Our censers are as yours : we dare you to the 

Thus spake the proud at prime of morn ; 

Where was their place at eve ? Ye know 
Rocks of the wild in sunder torn, 

And altars scath'd with fires of woe ! 
Earth heard and sank, and they were gone ; 
Only their dismal parting groan 

The shuddering ear long time will haunt. 

Korah, Dathan, and Abiram. 71 

Thus rebels fare : but ye profane, 
Who dared th' anointing Power disdain 

For freedom's rude unpriestly vaunt, 
Dire is the fame for you in store : 
Your molten censers evermore 

Th' atoning altar must inlay ; 
Memorial to the kneeling quires 
That Mercy's God hath judgment fires 

For high-voiced Korahs in their day. 

Elijah and the Messengers of 

Oh ! surely Scorner is his name, 
Who to the Church will errands bring 
From a proud world or impious king, 

And, without fear or shame, 
In mockery own them " Men of God," 
O'er whom he gaily shakes the miscreant spoiler's 

But if we be God's own indeed, 
Then is there fire in heaven, be sure, 
And bolts deep-wounding, without cure, 

For the blasphemer's seed • — 
Wing'd are they all, and aim'd on high, 
Against the hour when Christ shall hear His mar- 
tyrs' cry. 

Elijah and the Messengers of Ahaziah. 73 

Oh ! tell me not of royal hosts ; — 
One hermit, strong in fast and prayer, 
Shall gird his sackcloth on, and scare 

Whate'er the vain earth boasts ; 
And thunder-stricken chiefs return 
To tell their Lord how dire the Church's light- 
nings burn. 




" Our God is a consuming fire. " — Hebr. xii. 29. 
The Samaritans spared, 

And dare ye deem God's ire must cease 

In Christ's new realm of peace ? 
'Tis true, beside the scorner's gate 
The Lord long-suffering deign'd to wait, 

Nor on the guilty town 
Call'd the stern fires of old Elijah down : 

A victim, not a judge, He came, 
With His own blood to slake th' avenging flame. 

Now, by those hands so rudely rent 

The bow of Heaven is bent ; 
And ever and anon His darts 
Find out e'en here the faithless hearts, 

Fire. 7 5 

Now gliding silently, 
Now rushing loud, and blazing broad and high, 

A shower or e'er that final storm 
'Leave earth a molten ocean without form. 

True Love, all gentle though she be, 

Hath eyes, the wrath to see : 
Nor may she fail in faith to pray 
For hastening of Redemption's day, 

Though with the triumph come 
Forebodings of the dread unchanging doom :- 

Though with the Saints' pure lambent light 
Fires of more lurid hue mysteriously unite. 



Dread glimpses, e'en in gospel times, have been ; 

Xor was the holy Household mute, 
Nor did she not th' Avenger's march salute 
With somewhat of exulting mien. — 
Angel harps ! of you full well 
That measure stern 
The Church might learn 
When th' apostate Caesar fell ; — 
Proud champion he, and wise beyond the rest, 
His shafts not at the Church, but at her Lord addrest. 

What will He do, the Anointed One on high, 
Xow that hell-powers and powers of Rome 
Are banded to reverse His foemen's doom, 
And mar His Sovereign Majesty? 
Seers in Paradise enshrin'd ! 
Your glories now 
Must quail and bow 
To th' high-reaching force of mind — 

Julian. 7 7 

Vainly o'er Salem rolls your dooming tone : 
Her sons have heard, this hour, a mightier trumpet 

The foes of Christ are gathering, sworn to build 

Where he had sworn to waste and mar ; 
Plummet and line, arms of old Babel's war, 
Are ready round Moriah's field. — 
But the clouds that lightning breathe 
Were ready too, 
And, bursting through, 
Billows from the wrath beneath, 
For Christ and for His Seers so keenly wrought, 
They half subdued to faith the proud man's dying 


The Fall of Babylon. 

But louder yet the heavens shall ring, 
And brighter gleam each Seraph's wing, 

When, doom'd of old by every Prophet's lyre, 
Theme of the Saints' appealing cry, 
While underneath the shrine they lie, 

Proud Babel in her hour sinks in her sea of fire. 

While worldlings from afar bemoan 

The shatter' d Antichristian throne, 
The golden idol bruis'd to summer dust — 

" Where are her gems ? — her spices, where ? 

Tower, dome, and arch, so proud and fair — 
Confusion is their name — the name of all earth's 

The while for joy and victory 
Seers and Apostles sing on high, 

The Fall of Babylon. 79 

Chief the bright pair who rest in Roman earth : 
Fall'n Babel well their lays may earn, 
Whose triumph is when souls return, 

Who o'er relenting pride take part in angels' mirth. 


Diuine Wrath. 

Thus evermore the Saints' avenging God 

With His dread fires hath scath'd th' unholy ground ; 

Nor wants there, waiting round th' uplifted rod, 
Watchers in heaven and earth, aye faithful found.- 

God's armies, open-eyed His aim attend, 
Wondering how oft these warning notes will peal, 

Ere the great trump be blown, the Judge descend : 
Man only wears cold look and heart of steel. 

Age after age, where Antichrist hath reign'd 
Some flame-tipt arrow of th' Almighty falls, 

Imperial cities lie in heaps profan'd, 
Fire blazes round apostate council-halls. 

Divine Wrath. Si 

And if the world sin on, yet here and there 

Some proud soul cowers, some scorner learns to 

Some slumberer rouses at the beacon glare, 
And trims his waning lamp, and waits for day. 


{§tommutw £ontificum. 


* ■ At evening, being the first day of the week, the doors were 
shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews." — 
St. John xx. 19. 

" Are the gates sure ? — is every bolt made fast ? 

No dangerous whisper wandering through — 
Dare we breathe calm, and unalarm'd forecast 

Our calls to suffer or to do ?" 
O ye of little faith ! twelve hours ago, 

He whom ye mourn, by power unbound 
The bonds ye fear • nor sealed stone below 

Barred Him, nor mailed guards around. 

The Lord is risen indeed ! His own have seen, 
They who denied, have seen His face, 

Weeping and spared. Shall loyal hearts not lean 
Upon His outstretch' d arm of grace ? 

Commune Pontificum. 83 

Shine in your orbs, ye stars of God's new heaven, 

Or gather'd or apart, shine clear ! 
Far, far beneath the opposing mists are driven, 

The Invisible is waiting near. 



" Jesus came and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, 
Peace be unto you. And when He had so said, He shewed 
them His hands and His side. Then were the disciples glad 
when they saw the Lord." — St. John xx. 19, 20. 

Is He not near? — look up and see : 
Peace on His lips, and in His hands and side 
The wounds of love. He stays the trembling knee, 

Nerves the frail arm, His ark to guide. 

Is He not near ? O trust His seal 
Baptismal, yet uncancell'd on thy brow ; 
Trust the kind love His holy months reveal, 
Oft as His altar hears thy deep heart-searching vow. 

And trust the calm, the joy benign, 
That o'er the obedient breathes in life's still hour. 
When Sunday lights with summer airs combine, 

And shadows blend from cloud and bower. 

Tokens. 85 

And trust the wrath of Jesus' foes ; 
They feel Him near, and hate His mark on you ; 
O take their word, ye whom He lov'd and chose ! 
Be joyful in your King ; the rebels own you true. 



' Then said Jesus unto them again, Peace be unto you : as 
My Father hath sent Me, so send I you." — St. John xx. 21. 

And shrink ye still ? — He nearer draws, 
And to His mission and His cause 
Welcomes His own with words of grace and might 
" Peace be to you !" — their peace, who stand 
In sentry with God's sword in hand, 
The peace of Christ's lov'd champions warring in 
His sight. 

" Peace be to you ! "— their peace, who feel 
E'en as the Son the Father's seal, 
So they the Son's ; each in his several sphere 
Gliding on fearless angel wing, 
One heart in all, one hope, one King, 
Each an Apostle true, a crown'd and robed seer. 

Seals. 87 

Sent as the Father sent the Son, 
'Tis not for you to swerve nor shun 
Or power or peril ; ye must go before : 
If caught in the fierce bloody shower, 
Think on your Lord's o'erwhelming hour; 
Are ye not priests to Him who the world's forfeit 
bore ? 

Throned in His Church till He return, 
Why should ye fear to judge and spurn i 
This evil world, chain'd at His feet and yours ? 
Why with dejected faltering air 
Your rod of more than empire bear ? 
Your brows are royal yet; God's unction aye en- 

1 Vide Rev. ii. 26—28, which is also addressed to a Christian Bishop. 



1 ' And having said this, He breathed on them, and saith unto 
them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost." — St. John xx. 22. 

By your Lord's creative breath, 
Breathing hope, and scorn of death ; 
Love untired, on pardon leaning, 
Joy, all mercies sweetly gleaning ; 
Zeal, the bolts of Heaven to dart, 
Fragrant purity of heart ; — 
By the voice ineffable, 
Wakening your mazed thoughts with an Almighty 
spell ; 

By His word, and by His hour 
When the promise came with power, — 
By His Holy Spirit's token, 
By His saintly chain unbroken, 

Gifts'. 89 

Lengthening, while the world lasts on, 
From His cross unto His throne, — 
Guardians of His virgin spouse ! 
Know that His might is yours, whose breathing 
seal'd your vows. 

9 o 

" Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them ; 
and whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained." — St. John 
xx. 23. 

Behold your armoury : — sword and lightning shaft, 

Cull'd from the stores of God's all-judging ire, 
And in your wielding left ! The words, that waft 

Power to your voice absolving, point with fire 
Your awful curse. O grief! should Heaven's dread 

Have stayed, for you, the mercy-dews of old 
Vouchsafed, w r hen pastors' arms in deep desire 
Were spread on high to bless the kneeling fold ! 
If censure sleep, will absolution hold ? 

Will the great King affirm their acts of grace, 
Who careless leave to cankering rust and mould 

The flaming sword that should the unworthy chase 
From His pure Eden ? O beware ! lest vain 
Their sentence to remit , who never dare retain. 


Hail ! gladdening Light, of His pure glory poured 

Who is th' immortal Father, heavenly, blest, 
Holiest of Holies — Jesus Christ our Lord ! 
Now we are come to the Sun's hour of rest, 
The lights of evening round us shine, 
We hymn the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit divine ! 
Worthiest art Thou at all times to be sung 

With undefiled tongue, 
Son of our God, Giver of Life, alone ! . 
Therefore, in all the world, Thy glories, Lord, they 
own \ 

k Hymn of the 1st or 2nd Century : preserved by St . Basil. —\_Vid. JRouth . 
Reliqu. Sacr., iii. p. 299.] 

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9 2 

The Gathering at the Church. 

" He which hath begun a good work in you, will perform 
it until the day of Jesus Christ." — Philipp. I. 6. 

Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain ; 
In their hour hell-powers must reign • 
Vainly, vainly would w r e force 
Fatal error's torrent course ; 
Earth is mighty, we are frail, 
Faith is gone, and hope must fail." 

Yet along the Church's sky 
Stars are scattered, pure and high ; 
Yet her wasted gardens bear 
Autumn violets, sweet and rare — 
Relics of a spring-time clear, 
Earnest of a bright new year. 

Israel yet hath thousands seal'd, 
Who to Baal never kneel'd ; 

The Gathering of the Church. 

Seize the banner, spread its fold ! 
Seize it with no faltering hold ! 
Spread its foldings high and fair, 
Let all see the Cross is there ! 

What if to the trumpet's sound 
Voices few come answering round ? 
Scarce a votary swell the burst, 
When the anthem peals at first ? 
God hath sown, and He will reap ; 
Growth is slow when roots are deep ; 

He will aid the work begun, 
For the love of His dear Son ; 
He will breathe in their true breath, 
Who, serene in prayer and faith, 
Would our dying embers fan 
Bright as when their glow began. 


%mns far Emigrants \ 


1 ' And He was in the hinder part of the ship asleep 
on a pillow." — St. Mark iv. 38. 

Lord, lift my heart to Thee at morn, 

For Thou art very near ; 
Thy voice upon the waves is borne, 

Thee in the winds I hear. 

The winds and waves that chime all night 

When I am dreaming laid 
A time so soothing in its might, 

I scarce can be afraid. 

And yet 'tis awful music, fraught 
With memories scorn' d at home ; 

And whispereth many a boding thought 
Of trial-years to come. 

1 Printed in the first edition of "Prayers for Emigrants," published by 
Groombridge for the Emigration Office. 

Hymns for Emigrants. 95 

O, Love unseen, we know Thee nigh, 

When Ocean rageth most, 
Thou bidd'st us come to Thee, and cry 
"Lord, save us, we are lost !" 

Thou seem'st to sleep that we may pray, 

Full deeply dost Thou hide ; 
Forgotten through the calm clear day, 

Nor own'd at even-tide. 

But when the darksome gales begin, 

The rude waves urge their race, 
Man, startled from his sloth and sin, 

Seeks out Thine hiding-place. 

Well if we pray till Thou awake ! 

One word, one breath of Thee 
Soft silence in the heart will make, 

Calm peace upon the sea. 

Lord of our homes, and of our graves ! 

If ever while we lay 
Beneath Thy stars, amid Thy waves, 

Our souls have learn'd to pray, 

96 Hymns for Emigrants. 

Revive that prayer, morn, night, and noon 

In city, mine, or dale ; 
Else will the sounds of earth too soon 

O'er the dread Voice prevail. 

Help us to sing Thine ocean-song 

Each in his home on shore, 
The note Thou gaVst do Thou prolong 

Through life, and evermore. 

Morning Hymn. 
" He walked on the water to go to Jesus." — St. Matt. xiv. 29. 

Slowly the gleaming stars retire, 
The eastern heaven is all on fire ; 
The waves have felt the unrisen sun, 
Their matin service is begun. 

Lord of the boundless sky and sea, 

In loving fear we kneel to Thee, 

Fain would we grasp the strong right hand, 

Reach' d to Thine own by sea and land, — 

Hymns for Emigrants. 97 

The hand that did Thy Saint uphold, 
When love had made him overbold ; 
What time at twilight dawn he stood 
Half-sinking in the boisterous flood ; 

He cried to Thee, and Thou didst save. 
So we, Thine ocean-wanderers, crave 
Ere the bright flush of morn be o'er, 
Thy blessing, Lord, for one day more. 

Still onward, as to Southern skies 
We spread our sail, new stars arise ; 
New lights upon the glancing tide, 
Fresh hues where pearl and coral hide. 

What are they all, but tokens true 
Of grace for ever fresh and new : 
True tokens of Thine awful love 
Around us, Father, and above ? 

And we would daily, nightly, draw 
Nearer to Thee in love and awe ; 
Till in Love's home we pause at last, 
Our anchor in the deep Heaven cast. 


c)8 Hymns for Emigrants. 

The while across the changeful sea 
Feeling our way, we cling to Thee, 
Unchanging Lord ! and Thou dost mark 
For each his station in Thine ark. 

Still overhead the saving Sign 
Streams, and we know that we are Thine. 
What course soe'er the vessel take, 
The signal of our King we make. 

It hallows air and wave : and lo ! 
The heavens a glorious answer shew. 
High and more high through southern skies 
We see the unmoving Cross arise. 

The Cross on board, — what need we more ? 
The Cross to welcome us ashore ; 
What need we more, if hearts be true, 
Our voyage safe, our port in view ? 

If hearts be true : but O, dear Lord, 
Which of us all may say the word ? 
Thy Spirit breathe this day ! or we 
Shall lose, ere night, ourselves and Thee. 

Hymns for Emigrants. 99 

Evening Hymn. 

" When thou passest through the waters, I will be 
with thee." — Isaiah xliii. 2. 

The twilight hour is sweet at home, 

When sounds from brook and woodland come, 

Or old familiar bells, that bring 

The memories grave of many a spring. 

At such soft times the genial air 
Is fragrant with unbidden prayer, 
And souls devout their longings pour 
By Christmas hearth, or Whitsun bower. 

And now upon the twilight sea 
How may we choose but kneel to Thee, 
AVhile airs of Thine own breathing steal 
O'er the hot calm, worn hearts to heal ? 

ioo Hymns for Emigrants, 

Now sails are moist with unseen dews, 

Aerial lines of all bright hues 

Lie on the level West afar, 

And here and there one silent star. 

O Lord, our Peace ! and may we dare 
With voices marred by sin and care, 
To break the stillness, and upraise 
The song of our unworthy praise ? 

Yea, as of old Thy Saints at eve 

A blessing did of Thee receive, 

When o'er the waves they took their way, 

Thou to the mountain, Lord, to pray ; 

So may we trust that our frail bark, 
Bearing aloft Thine awful mark, 
Ere she began her ocean-race 
Had portion in that word of grace. 

For why ? Thine everlasting Creed 
Is ours, to say in time of need ; 
We waft the Name from coast to coast, 
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost. 

Hymns for Emigrants. 101 

Ours too Thy prayer, according well 
With Ocean's many voiced swell, 
Which close to every ear begins, 
Its way beyond all hearing wins. 

The surging prow, the flashing wake 
Music at hand unwearying make \ 
Waves upon waves repeat the song, 
And through unbounded space prolong. 

We say the Prayer our Saviour taught, 
As household words with homely thought \ 
But angels bear it on and on 
In all its meaning, to the Throne. 

The frailest bark that ploughs the main, 
The simplest child may raise the strain ; 
Heaven, earth, air, seas, will hear the call 
" Our Father" harmonizing all. 

But, O, that to Thy Prayer and Creed 
Thine high Commands we joined indeed, 
Written in heart, on hand engraven • — 
Three seals in one of grace and Heaven ! 

102 Hymns for Emigrants. 

All we have been, forgive, Lord, 
Keep Thou to-night our watch and ward : 
Safe may we slumber on the sea, 
Thou at the helm, our hearts with Thee ! 

The Innocents' ®aij m . 

: In Ramah was there a voice heard, lamentation and 
weeping, and great mourning." — St. Matt. ii. 18. 

Bethlehem, above all cities blest ! 
Th J Incarnate Saviour's earthly rest, 
Where in His manger safe He lay, 
By angels guarded night and day. 

Bethlehem, of cities most forlorn, 
Where in the dust sad mothers mourn, 
Nor see the heavenly glory shed 
On each pale infant's martyr'd head. 

m This and the three next poems are printed in the "Child's Chris- 
tian Year." 


The Innocents Day. 

'Tis ever thus : who Christ would win, 
Must in the school of woe begin ; 
And still the nearest to His grace, 
Know least of their own glorious place. 

" Ot such is the kingdom of God." — St. Luke xviii. 16. 


First Sunday, after Easter. 

"And there are three that bear witness in earth — the Spirit, 
and the Water, and the Blood ; and these three agree in one." 

I St. John v. 8. 

Our God in glory sits on high : 

Man may not see and live : 
Yet witness of Himself on earth 

For ever does He give. 

His Spirit dwells in all good hearts ; 

All precious fruits of love, 
Thoughts, words, and works, made holy, bear 

His witness from above. 

The Baptism waters have not ceas'd 
To spread His Name, since first 

From the Redeemer's wounded Side 
The holy fountain burst. 

106 First Sim day after Easter. 

That other stream of endless life, 

His all-atoning Blood : 
Is it not still our Cup of Grace ? 

His Flesh, our spirits' food ? 

O ! never may our sinful hearts, 
What Thou hast joined, divide ! 

Thy Spirit in Thy mysteries still 
For life, not death, abide ! 


i What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put 
asunder." — St. Matt. xix. 6. 


Tx3ntli $tmdaij after Trinity, 

" Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings Thou hast 
perfected praise. " — St. Matt. xxi. 16. 

Lo ! from the Eastern hills the Lord 

Descends in lowly state ; 
Let us go out with one accord, 

And where He passes, wait. 

Prepare, with willing hearts and true, 
Glad hymn and garland gay : 

joy ! if He should look on you, 
And with His kind voice say, — 

" I hear thee, and it is My will, 
By thee to perfect praise ; 

1 have a place for thee to fill, 

Have mark'd thy times and ways ; 

" I, in the music of the blest, 

To thee a part assign, 
Only do thou sing out thy best, — 

I call thee, be thou Mine." 

to8 Tenth Sunday after Trinity. 

Thine heart would beat full high, I know 

If Jesus, on His way, 
Had turn'd aside to greet thee so, 

Thy very soul would pray. 

But mark Him well one moment more, 
Behold, the Saviour weeps ; 

He weeps while heaven and earth adore 
Through all eternal deeps. 

Why weeps He ? for His people's sin, 

And for thy follies all : 
For each bad dream thine heart within, 

Those tears the bitterer fall. 


<; Teach me Thy way, O Lord, and I will walk in Thy truth 
O knit my heart unto Thee, that I may fear Thy Name.*' — 
Ps. lxxxvi. II. 


Sixteenth Sunday after Trinittj. 

: And you hath He quickened, who were dead in trespasses 
and sins." — Eph. ii. i. 

When Christ to village comes or town, 
With priests that on Him wait, 

The Church her living dead lays down 
Before Him in the gate. 

For whoso know His will, and yet 
Have stolen, sworn, or lied, 

In His dread book their sin is set, 
That hour, to Him, they died. 

What if thou be but young in years, 

A boy, or simple maid, 
Yet in His sight thy soul appears 

A corse for burial laid. 

1 1 o Sixteenth Su?iday after Trinity. 

Thy sins, from His own holy place 

Are bearing thee away, 
But H e may touch the bier, His grace 

May bid thee rise and pray. 

The Church, thy mother, weeps for thee, 
Her tearful prayer perchance 

May win the word of pardon, He 
May break the deadly trance. 

Only do thou sit up and speak 
Soon as thou heafst His call, 

Kim honour with confession meek, 
He will forgive thee all. 


" Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and 
Christ shall give thee light." — Eph. v. 14. 


St, John's Batj n , 

" He then, lying on Jesus' breast." — St. John xiii. 25. 
11 And I, John, saw these things and heard them." — Rev. xxii. 8. 

Word supreme, before creation 

Born of God eternally, 
Who didst will for our salvation, 

To be born on earth, and die ; 
Well Thy saints have kept their station, 

Watching till Thine hour drew nigh. 

Now 'tis come, and faith espies Thee ; 

Like an eaglet in the morn, 
One in stedfast worship eyes Thee, 

Thy belov'd, Thy latest born : 
In Thy glory He descries Thee 

Reigning from the tree of scorn. 

" This, and the three next poems, are from the Salisbury Hynuial. 

ii2 St. JoJui's Day. 

He upon Thy bosom lying 

Thy true tokens learn'd by heart ; 

And Thy dearest pledge in dying 
Lord, Thou didst to him impart. — 

Shew'dst him how, all grace supplying, 
Blood and water from Thee start. 

He first, hoping and believing, 
Did beside the grave adore ; 
Latest he, the warfare leaving, 

Landed on the eternal shore ; 
And his witness we receiving 

Own Thee Lord for evermore. 

Much he ask'd in loving wonder, 
On Thy bosom leaning, Lord ! 

In that secret place of thunder, 
Answer kind didst Thou accord. 

Wisdom for Thy Church to ponder 
Till the day of dread award. 

St. John's Day. 1 1 3 

Lo ! Heaven's doors lift up, revealing 
How Thy judgments earthward move ; 

Scrolls unfolded, trumpets pealing, 
Wine-cups from the wrath above, 

Yet o'er all a soft Voice stealing — 
" Little children, trust and love !" 

Thee, the Almighty King eternal, 

Father of the eternal Word • 
Thee, the Father's Word supernal, 

Thee, of both, the breath adored ; 
Heaven and earth, and realms infernal 

Own, One glorious God and Lord. Amen. 

Hursley, April 19, 1856. 


For the Eolation Batjs, 

' ' Thou visitest the earth and blessest it, Thou makest it 
very plenteous. "—Ps. lxv. 9. 

Lord in Thy Name Thy servants plead, 
And Thou hast sworn to hear • 

Thine is the harvest, Thine the seed, 
The fresh and fading year : 

Our hope, when Autumn winds blew wild, 
We trusted, Lord, with Thee ; 

And still, now Spring has on us smiled, 
We wait on Thy decree. 

The former and the latter rain, 

The summer sun and air, 
The green ear, and the golden grain, 

All Thine, are ours by prayer. 

For the Rogation Days. 

Thine too by right, and ours by grace, 
The wondrous growth unseen, 

The hopes that soothe, the fears that brace, 
The love that shines serene. 

So grant the precious things brought forth 

By sun and moon below, 
That Thee in Thy new heaven and earth 

We never may forego. 

Malvern, Aug. 4, 1856. 


Easter Ere. 

■ He went and preached unto the spirits in prison/' 

i Pa. iii. 19. 

Father and Lord of our whole life, 
As Thine our burden and our strife, 
As Thine it was to die and rise, 
So Thine the grave and Paradise. 

Lord of the eternal Sabbath-day, 
Lo, at Thy tomb for rest we pray : 
Here, rest from our own work ; and there, 
The perfect rest with Thee to share. 

True God, true Flesh of Man' made, 
In a true grave for sinners laid, 
With Thee this mortal frame we trust ; 
O guard and glorify our dust ! 

Easter Eve. 1 1 7 

Soul of the Lord, so freely breathed, 
And to the Father's hands bequeathed, 
Draw us with heart's desire to Thee, 
When we among the dead are free. 

Dread Preacher, who to fathers old 
Didst wonders in the gloom unfold ; 
Thy perfect creed O may we learn 
In Eden, waiting Thy return. 

They saw Thy day, and heard Thy voice, 
And in Thy glory did rejoice ; 
And Thou didst break their prison-bars, 
And lead them high above the stars. 

" Captivity led captive'' then 
Was sung by angels and by men : 
Grant us the same to sing by faith, 
Both now, and at the hour of death. 

Our souls and bodies, Lord, receive 
To Thine own blessed Easter Eve : 
All our belov'd in mercy keep, 
As one by one they fall asleep. 

n8 Easter Eve. 

To Thee, who, dead, again dost live, 
All glory, Lord, Thy people give, 
With the dread Father, as is meet, 
And the eternal Paraclete. Amen. 

Llandudno, Aug 14, 1 856. 

ii 9 

To be sung at tne Oommencemeiit of the Service. 

( A threefold cord is not quickly broken." — Eccles. iv. 12. 

The voice that breathed o'er Eden, 

That earliest wedding-day, 
The primal marriage blessing, 

It hath not passed away. 

Still in the pure espousal 

Of Christian man and maid, 
The holy Three are with us, 

The threefold grace is said. 

For dower of blessed children, 
For love and faith's sweet sake, 

For high mysterious union, 

Which nought on earth may break. 

i2 o Holy Matrimony. 

Be present, awful Father. 

To give away this bride, 
As Eve Thou gav'st to Adam 

Out of his own pierced side : 

Be present, Son of Mary, 
To join their loving hands, 

As Thou didst bind two natures 
In Thine eternal bands : 

Be present, Holiest Spirit, 
To bless them as they kneel, 

As Thou for Christ, the Bridegroom, 
The heavenly Spouse dost seal. 

O spread Thy pure wing o'er them, 
Let no ill power find place, 

When onward to Thine altar, 
The hallowed path they trace, 

Holy Matrimony. 121 

To cast their crowns before Thee 

In perfect sacrifice, 
Till to the home of gladness 

With Christ's own Bride they rise. Amen. 

July 12, 1857. 


Translations ot Ancient Church 


(For an early Morning Service.) 

Sleep has refresh'd our limbs : we spring 
Out of our beds, as men in fear : 

Look on us, Father, while we sing ; 
We pray Thee, be Thou very near. 

Be Thou the first in every tongue ; 

Thine be each heart's first loving glow, 
That all its doings, all day long, 

O, Holy One, from Thee may flow. 

Let darkness to the glory yield, 
And gloom unto the star of day ; 

So may night's ill be purged and heal'd 
By gift of Thy celestial ray. 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 123 

So may night's harm (this too we ask 
In humble prayer) be hewn away : 

So praise may be our endless task. 
E'en as we hymn Thee, Lord, to-day, 



The Star of day hath risen, and we 
Must pray our God on bended knee 
From all our doings, all this day, 
To chase and keep ill powers away. 

The tongue to tune, and bridle in 
From Discord's harsh, unpitying din : 
With soothing hand to screen the sight 
From eager gleams of vain delight. 

Pure be the secrets of the heart, 
Unruly will, stand thou apart. 
The proud flesh bruise we, and control 
By meat and drink in measured dole. 

That when the day departs, and we 
In course again the dim night see, 
By self-denial clean, we may 
His glory sing to whom we pray. 

'translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 

To God the Father glory be, 
And glory, Only Son, to Thee \ 
With the most holy Paraclete, 
Now, and for ever, as is meet. 




Watch us by night, with one accord uprising, 
Psalms in due course our meditation always, 
Hymns strong and sweet in all their might and 

Sing we, adoring. 

So to Love's King our melodies combining, 
We may find grace with all the saints to enter 
Love's palace hall, the blessed life among them 
There to inherit. 

Such be our boon from Thee, Thou blessed Godhead ! 
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost co-equal, 
Grant it alike, as through the world Thy glory 
Rings undivided. 



E en now vouchsafe, Good Spirit, One 
Both with the Father and the Son, 
Into our hearts Thyself to pour, 
A treasure heap'd and running o'er. 

Eye, soul, tongue, mind, with all your might 
In tones of perfect praise unite ! 
Celestial Love, break out and blaze, 
Touch all around with living rays ! 

Father of Love, this boon confer, 

And Thou, co-equal only Son, 
And Holy Ghost the Comforter, 

For ever reigning, Three in One. 



(Sixth Hour.) 

Strong Ruler, God whose Word is truth, 
Who ordering all things and their change, 
With brightness dost the morn array, 
And with Thy fires the noontide hour, 

Quench Thou the flame, where'er is strife, 
Take all our harmful heat away ; 
Health to our mortal bodies give, 
And to our souls true peace of heart. 

Grant it, O Father of all Love, 
And Thou, co-equal only Son, 
Who reignest through all ages with 
The Holy Ghost the Comforter. Amen. 



(Ninth Hour.) 

O God, th' enduring might of things, 
Abiding in Thyself unmoved, 
Who measurest out each time and tide 
By changing lights from day to day ; 

Lord, grant it clear at eventide 
That life may never fade, nor fall, 
But everlasting brightness dawn 
At once — true meed of holy death. 

Grant it, O Father of all Love, 
And Thou, co-equal only Son, 
Who reignest through all ages with 
The Holy Ghost the Comforter. Amen. 

J 3° 


(For Sunday Morning .) 

This glorious morn, Time's eldest born, 
Wherein was framed the world we see, 

And from the grave, our souls to save, 
The Framer rose in victory ; 

From soul and eye let slumber fly ; 

Rise, one and all, with duteous speed ; 
And seek by night His kindly light, 

As of that ancient p Seer we read. 

Pray we in fear, so He may hear, 

And His right hand reach out in love ; 

And, cleans'd from all earth's stain recall 
His wanderers to their home above. 

So, whosoe'er in chant and prayer 
These stillest, holiest hours employ 

Of His own day, on them He may 
Rain blessings from His own rich joy. 

° Altered from the Rev. W. Copeland's version. p Isaiah xxvi. 9. 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 131 

Father of Light, serene and bright, 
Now with o'erflowing hearts we pray, 

Quench Thou the fire of foul desire 
Each harmful deed drive far away. 

Lest wandering sense, or dark offence 

Corrupt this fallen, mortal frame, 
And kindling lust make our frail dust 

Meet fuel for Hell's fiercer flame. 

Therefore we flee, good Lord, to Thee ; 

O throughly purge our deep disgrace \ 
In mercy give, that we may live, 

True treasures from the eternal place. 

So we the same whom carnal shame 

Made exiles, now new-cleansed and bright, 

E'en waiting here in prostrate fear 
Our glory-hymn may learn aright. 

Father of Love, this prayer approve, 

And Thou, co-equal only Son, 
And Spirit blest, of both confest, 

For ever reigning, Three in One. 



(For Sunday Evening ( «.) 

Thou, Light's Creator, first and best, 
By whom new days in light are drest, 
The young world making glad and bright 
By gleaming of that earliest light : 

Whose wisdom joined in meet array 
The morn and eve, and named them Day :- 
Night glideth on in dim, dark air, — 
Regard Thy people's tearful prayer ! 

Lest sin-bound souls with Thee at strife, 
Prove outcasts from the gift of life ; 
While thinking but of earth and time 
They weave them still new chains of crime. 

O may we knock at Heaven's dread door, 
And win the wreath that fades no more ! 
Shun harms without, clear hearts witlr 
Of all their worst, their haunting sin. 

<J Altered from the " Hymnal Noted." 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 133 

Father, do Thou this boon accord, 
Through Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Lord ! 
Who with the Holy Ghost, and Thee, 
Dost live and reign eternally. 



(Holy Innocents.) 

Hail, Martyr-flowers, who gleaming forth, 
Just on the edge of your brief day, 

By Christ's keen foe were swept from earth, 
As rosebuds by the whirlwind's sway ! 

The first-fruits unto Christ are ye, 
His lambs new-slain, a tender sort, 

E'en by the shrine in childlike glee 
Ye with your palms and garlands sport. 

Ah ! what avails so dire a doom ? 

What boots the stain on Herod's soul ? 
The One of many 'scapes the tomb, 

The Christ is gone, unharm'd and whole. 

Far from their streaming blood who shared 
His birth-hour, He at rest is laid : 

The Virgin-born that steel hath spared 
Which many a matron childless made. 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 135 

So did one child of yore elude 
The wild laws of the wicked king, 

With likeness of the Christ endued, 
Ordain'd His people home to bring. 

1 3 6 


Servant of God, remember 
The drops thy brow bedewing 

From holy font, and laver, 
The unction thee renewing. 

See, that on brow and bosom, 
When gentle sleep is calling, 

The Cross abide to seal thee, 
Upon thy chaste bed falling. 

No gloom the Cross endureth, 
All crime the Cross repelleth, 

By that strong sign devoted 
The soul unwavering dwell eth. 

Begone, ye wandering portents, 
Ye dreams so base and dreary ; 

Begone, unclean Deceiver, 
Of cheating never weary. 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 137 

O foul, O crooked Serpent, 

A thousand mazes trying, 
And winding frauds, to trouble 

The hearts on Heaven relying. 

Depart, — the Christ is present ! 

The Christ is present,— vanish ! 
The Sign that well thou knowest 

Thee and thy crew shall banish. 

What if awhile the body 

Sink wearily reclining? 
Faith wakes, in very slumber 

The truth of Christ divining. 

Praise to the Eternal Father, 
To Christ, true King of Heaven, 

And to the Blessed Spirit 
Now, and for aye be given ! 



The choir of new Jerusalem 

A new sweet song must choose and frame. 

Her Paschal feast (O glad employ !) 

So honouring with all sober joy. 

See Christ the unconquered Lion rise ! 
The Dragon crushed beneath Him lies. 
His living voice thrills through the gloom, 
The dead awakening from the tomb. 

Insatiate Hell to light once more 
Hath given the prey devour'd of yore, 
And captives freed in due array 
Are following Jesus on the way. 

He triumphs now in glorious light. 
By His great power, as meet and right, 
The heavenly and the earthly kind 
In one sole City He doth bind. 

Altered from the " Hymnal Noted." 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 139 

He is our King, His soldiers we, 
Our lowly chanted prayer must be 
That He may station each and all 
In His own glorious palace-hall. 

Through ages that no limit know 
Father Supreme, to Thee we owe 
Glory and honour, with the Son 
And Holy Spirit, Three in One. 


The banners of the King appear, 
The mystery of the Cross shines clear, 
Whereby upon the Tree of shame 
In flesh He hangs who flesh did frame. 

With palms outstretch'd our Victim view 
His very Heart nail'd through and through, 
Vouchsafing, for Redemption's price, 
Here to be slain in sacrifice. 

And here too, wound on wound, we see 
By dint of that dire lance, how He 
To cleanse us caused His side to run 
With Blood and Water all in one. 

Fulfill'd s is now what David sings, 

(True verse that through the wide world rings,) 

" Among the nations all," saith he, 

" The Lord hath reigned from the Tree." 

s Ps. xcvi. 10. There was an ancient, but corrupt reading of this verse, 
4 Tell it out among the heathen, that the Lord reigneth from the Tree." 

Translations of Ancient Church Hyni7is i^i 

O stately Tree, so bright and fair, 
Who dost the King's own purple wear, 
Whose stem He chose and fitly framed 
That holiest Form to touch unblamed ! 

O blessed, on whose arms sustained 
The Ransom hung for all ordained ! 
His Body there in balance lay, 
And spoil'd Hell-powers of all their prey. 

Hail, Altar ! awful Victim, hail ! 
Whose glorious pains did so prevail ; 
Whose Life bore Death, and did restore 
By dying, Life for evermore. 

Thee, Lord most highest, Three in One 
With praise let every spirit own, 
Whom by the mystery of the Tree 
Thou sav'st, their Guide Eternal be ! 



Dread Word, who from the Father hast 
Thy goings forth of old, now born, 

When waning Time is well-nigh past, 
Sole succour to a world outworn, 

Enlighten now all bosoms, Lord, 

Consume them with Thy love, we pray, 

That heard at last, the Royal Word 
Earth's dreamy lights may chase away. 

And when Thou com'st a Judge, one day, 
The heart's dim records to unrol, 

Dark deeds with anguish to repay 
And with a crown the righteous soul, 

We may not, for our several sin, 
Each in his chain of darkness lie, 

But with the blest in glory win 
A virgin wreath eternally. 



Give ear, — the Voice rings keen and true 
The world's dim corners through and through 
Ye dreams and shadows, speed your flight, 
Lo ! Christ from heaven is darting light ! 

Now let each slumbering soul arise 
That yet impure and wounded lies ; 
Now a new Star its light doth give, 
And where it beams no ill may live. 

The Lamb from heaven is on His way, 
Our debt of His free love to pay. 
O may we all with tears most meet, 
And loving voice that mercy greet ! 

So when anew the Light doth rise, 
A horror girding earth and skies, 
Not as our sin Thy scourge may prove. 
O shield us with Thy pitying love ! 




Sing, my tongue, of glorious warfare, 
Sing the last, the dread affray ! 

O'er the Cross, high Victory's token, 
Sound the glad triumphant lay, 

How the Sacrifice enduring 
Earth's Redeemer won the day. 

He with our first father mourning 
For his crime and broken faith, 

Who of that ill fruit partaking 
In a moment died the death, — 

Mark'd e'en then a Tree to ransom 
All the first tree's woe and scathe. 

Such the work for our salvation 

In its order fix'd and due ; 
% Art, the Traitor's art to baffle 

And his wiles of changeful hue ; 
Thence tc draw the balm and healing 

Whence the foe the poison drew. 

1 Altered from Dr. Xeale's version. 

Translatio?is of Ancient Church Hymns. 145 

Wherefore in His season's fitness, 
When the sacred years were spent, 

Came the Son, the world's Creator, 
From the Father's palace sent, 

From the Virgin's womb proceeding, 
Flesh most pure and innocent. 

Hear His cries, an Infant hidden 
Where the narrow manger stands ; 

See the Mother Maid His members 
Wrapping in rude lowly bands : 

See the cradle-garments swathing 
God's own feeble feet and hands ! 

Now, the thirty years accomplish'd, 

(All the time to flesh assign'd,) 
With good will, for therefore came He, 

To His Agony resign'd, 
On the Cross our Lamb is lifted, 

There the Sacrifice they bind. 

Gall and vinegar, and spittle, 

Reed and nails and lance, and lo ! 

Now the tender Form is pierced, 
Now the Blood and Water flow ! 


146 Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 

Earth and stars, and sky, and ocean 
Well that cleansing river know. 

Faithful Cross ! above all other, 
One and only noble Tree ! 

None in foliage, none in blossom, 
None in fruit Thy peer may be. 

Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron, 
Sweetest weight is hung on Thee u ! 

To the Trinity be glory 

Everlasting, as is meet, 
Equal to the Father, equal 

To the Son and Paraclete ; 
Trinal Unity, whose praises 

All created things repeat. 

u This stanza is taken altogether from Dr. Neale's version. 



Fain would we love Thee, Lord ; for Thou 

Didst love us first, and lo ! 
In willing chains to follow Thee 

Our freedom we forego. 

Let memory nought to us recall, 

But of Thy love and praise ; 
Nor understanding brood on aught 

But Thee, and Thy dread ways. 

No will but what we learn'd as Thine, 
(Thou knowest, Lord !) have we : 

Whatever by Thy gift is ours, 
By our gift Thine shall be. 

All was of Thee : receive Thou all, 

Teach what with all to do : 
Rule, as Thou know'st and will'st : we know 

Thou art a Lover true. 

148 Translations of Ancioit Church Hymns. 

With love alone endow us ; so 

Shall we in turn love Thee. 
Give this, and Thou giv'st all : for why ? 

The rest is vanity. 



Alleluia, sweetest Anthem, 
Voice of joy that may not die ; 

Alleluia, voice delightsome 

E'en to blessed choirs on high ; 

Sung by holy ones abiding 
In God's home eternally. 

Alleluia, — O, blest mother, 

Salem, crown'd above and free, — 

Alleluia is thy watchword, 

So thine own shall joy with thee : 

But as yet by Babel's waters, 
Mourning exiles still are we. 

Alleluia we deserve not 

Here to chant for evermore ; 

Alleluia for our trespass 

We must for a while give o'er ; 

For a Lenten time approaches 
Bidding us our sins deplore. 

Translations of ' Ancievt Church Hymns. 

Wherefore in our hymns we pray Thee, 

Blessed, Holy Trinity ! 
Grant us all to keep Thine Easter 

In our home beyond the sky ; 
There to Thee our Alleluia 

Singing everlastingly. Amen. 



^For Christmas.) 

Born of God the Father's bosom, 
Ere the worlds to light had come, 

Alpha surnamed and Omega, 
He alone the source and sum 

Of all things that are or have been, 
Or hereafter shall find room, 
Ever, and for evermore. 

This is He whom Heaven-taught minstrels 
Hymned of yore with one accord ; 

Pledged to man in faithful pages 
Of the Prophets' sure strong word. 

As foreshewn, His Star is gleaming ;— 
Now let all things praise the Lord 
Ever, and for evermore. 

x Altered from the " Hymnal Noted." 

152 Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 

O that pure and blessed dawning, 
When the unspotted Mother bright 

By the Holy Ghost made fruitful, 
Our salvation brought to light, 

And the Babe, the world's Redeemer, 
Shew'd His sacred face in sight 
Ever, and for evermore. 

Let Heaven's height sing Psalms adoring, 
Psalms let all the angels sing, 

Powers and Virtues wheresoever 

Praise with Psalms our God and King ; 

None of all the tongues be silent, 
Mightily all voices sing, 
Ever, and for evermore. 

Thee let aged men and youthful, 
Boys in choral brotherhood, 

Mothers, virgins, simple maidens, 
One adoring multitude, 

Hymn aloud in tones harmonious, 
Of devoutest, purest mood, 
Ever, and for evermore* 

Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 1 5 3 

Christ, to Thee with God the Father, 

And the Holy Spirit, be 
Praise unwearied, high thanksgiving, 

Song, and perfect melody. 
Honour, virtue, might victorious, 

And to reign eternally 
Ever, and for evermore. 


u tahertas, qxxx sera tamen rsspexit 
intttem," ISOS. 

O Sun of Lusitane, are those thy rays 
Of glory set for evermore, that erst 
On rising Lisboa pour'd so bright a blaze, 
And gilded Tajo's stream, and proudly burst 
From foul eclipse, what time Braganza first 
Upraised the banner of his 7 prostrate reign, 
And cried, " To arms, thou race in freedom nurst, 
Arouse thee as of yore ! be free again ! 
Art thou for ever set, O Sun of Lusitane?" 

Heaven wills not so : lo ! from long death-like 

Waked by the storm of war, by murder's yell, 
Upstarts the Angel of the Western steep, 
And shaking off the loathsome dews that fell 

- T This seems to refer to the war of Portuguese independence, 1640— 1668, 
when the domination of Spain was cast off, and Joana de Braganga, a de- 
scendant of the old royal family, was placed on the throne of Portugal. 

Libertas^ quce sera icemen, ore. 155 

From Slavery's poison-tree, whose blighting spell 
Hath numb'd so long his darken'd sense, — behold ! 
He climbs once more his mountain citadel, 
Where hovering amid hero-saints of old, 
He sounds the trump that bursts the slumbers of the 

And at the fury of that blast I mark 

Ten thousand swords flash upward to the sky : 

Swords, that inglorious rust no more shall cark, 

Quick glancing in the light of Liberty. 

And infants lisp their fathers' battle cry, 

And mothers quit the cradle-side to hear, 

And from the cell of spotless Piety 

The spouse of Heaven, that shrank if man came 

Moves forth with downcast look, but not in maiden 


'Tis not the blush of maiden shame that dyes, 
Nor fear that blanches her unveiled cheek ; 
But she hath heard her weeping country's cries, 
Heard how the spoiler made Heaven's altars reek 


Libertas, q7icc sera tamen, &»c 

With innocent blood, and drown'd the infants' 

In fiendish laughter. She hath heard the tale, 
And her sick heart hath sunk as it would break 
For human kind : so shrinks she, sad and pale, 
Till fouler wrongs are told, and sterner longings swell. 

Longings of sacred vengeance, — for the fair, 
The chaste, the pious, dragged to insult dire, 
Dragged by the uplifted arm, or streaming hair, 
Then left in shame and horror to expire. 
The altars saw, and shudder'd \ and the fire 
Of holy lamps, that lighted saints to prayer, 
And witness' d throbs erewhile of pure desire, 
Trembling sank down, and cast a pale cold glare, 
Like miner's torch half-quench'd in some sepulchral 

For glory couldst thou dare the monstrous deep ? 
For empire couldst thou stretch thy eagle wings, 
Where ocean's echoes lay in lifeless sleep, 
Save when they caught the storm's wild murmurings? 

Libertas, qua sera tamen, &>t. 157 

Couldst thou be brave for gold ? and shall no stings 
Of holy vengeance thrill thee ? shall no arm 
Be bared for blood, now while each valley rings 
With thy oppressors' shout ? shall baneful charm 
Unnerve thee, Lusitane ? shall shape of toil or harm ? 

Far mightier spells the priests of Freedom try, 
Ot power to rouse from their entombed rest 
The mailed forms of chiefs, whom Victory 
Hath lull'd to sleep upon their country's breast. 
Now starting at her well-remember'd Tiest, 
Within yon circle, lo ! they take their stand, 
Of heroes girt for war, holy and blest, 
Thence towards the West and North they wave 
their brand, 
And to their banner call the free of heart and hand. 

'Tis done : for not unmark'd by Albion pass'd 
That voice, that gleam : her giant arm is rais'd, 
Her sail is spread. And hark ! Castile as fast 
Echoes the shout, and lifts her shield emblazed 

158 Libertas, qua sera tamen, &~~c. 

With deeds of high emprize. ever praised, 
Yet ever wept ! Thy banner is unfurl' d, 
Thy waken'd Eagle on the sun hath gazed. 
So on they fare in faith, till they have hurl'd 
Their triple bolt on guilt, defenders of a world. 


T# , xxn h&v Sisters Iteath* 

O thou, whose dim and tearful gaze 
Dwells on the shade of blessings gone ! 

Whose fancy some lost form surveys, 
Half-deeming it once more thine own \ 

O check that shuddering sob, control 
That lip all quivering with despair ; 

The thrillings of the startled soul 

That wakes and finds no lov'd one there. 

'Tis hard, in life's first wearying stage, 
From guiding, soothing souls to part ; 

To part, unchill'd by grief or age, 
Sister from sister, heart from heart ! 

Yet though no more she share, her love 

Thy way of woe still guides and cheers ; 
And from her cup of bliss above 

One drop she mingles with thy tears. 


Ta a Qiv\, wha was complaining that 

she had fatgatt&n hex Sisters 


Grieve not though Mary's birthday pass ? d 

Without one joyous rhyme ; 
When days are bright, and hours fly fast, 

Who measures bliss by time ? 

When grief has dimmed our darkling way, 

Such lonely gleams are dear : 
But who can mark one happy day, 

If happy through the year ? 

Such sweet forgetfulness be thine ! 

So ever live and love ! 
No need of gift, or votive line, 

The fond, glad heart to prove. 

Nov. 1810. 


lanes suggested btj the Remembrance 
nf an early, hut lang-last Friend. 

O blessed gem, of saintly, spotless kind, 
Too pure for earthly casket long to hide ! 
Thou sparkiest now with the true light, supplied 
From heaven's eternal fountain, where enshrined 
God hides Himself in brightness. Too refined 
For mortal gaze, thou shin'st without a stain. 
Yet mayst thou, when my spirit springs amain 
Toward heaven, though faintly, strike the eye of 

And draw thought upward, as with polar gleam, 
And shed a holy glow o'er prayer, and hope, and 
dream ! 

Aug, 1810. 



®n visiting this JUtins of Farleigh 
easily, Somersetshire 

Thou, who in Farleigh's ivied bower, 
Sitt'st musing on remember'd power, 
To whom reflection's eye recalls 
The glories of her roofless halls ; 
Reminded by the fitful breeze 
Of long-forgotten minstrelsies ; 
By shrubs that crown the turret's height, 
Of the red flag that streamed so bright 
When warriors laid them here to rest, 
And bowed to dames the blood-dyed crest, 
And Cromwell sheath'd his untired sword 
To share the feast with Hungerford : — 
Though mournful, o'er thy musing heart 
The gleam of faded glories dart, ■ 
Give not that rising sigh its way, 
Nor grieve that pride should so decay. 

On visiting Farleigh Castle \ Somersetshire. 163 

High blazed the hall in regal state, 
But want hung shivering on the gate. 
4 Unclad, untill'd the desert scene 
Nor glowed in gold, nor smiled with green. 
Who battles shared might feasts attend ; 
The spoiler was his chieftain's friend \ 
While pined, unwelcome and forgot, 
The tenant of the peaceful cot. 
For him nor jasmine bloom'd beneath, 
Nor woodbine clomb with upward wreath, 
To meet the slanting thatch, where played 
From darksome elms the waving shade. 
Nor portal brown, nor rustic seat 
Gave air and shade for noon's retreat : 
Nor flower-entangled casement peep'd 
Through bowers in tears of morning steep' d \ 
No comfort smooth'd his lowly bed, 
No Houlton liv'd to bless his shed. 

Aug. 24, 1 8 10. 


0n Pairing 0xxrjms Christ: gottege, xm 
his Election txx a Fellowship at 0ml. 

How soft, how silent has the stream of time 

Borne me unheeding on, since first I dream* d 

Of poetry and glory in thy shade, 

Scene of my earliest harpings ? There, if oft. 

(As through thy courts I took my nightly round. 

Where thy embattled line of shadow hid 

The moon's white glimmerings) on my charm'd ear 

Have swelPd of thy triumphant minstrelsy ■ 

Some few faint notes \ if one exulting chord 

Of my touch'd heart has thrhTd in unison, 

Shall I not cling unto thee ? shall I cast 

No strained glance on my adopted home, 

Departing ? Seat of calm delight, farewell ! 

Home of my muse, and of my friends ! I ne'er 

1 Sir John T. Coleridge, at that time a Scholar of CCC, had won the 
Prize for Latin Verses, on " Pyraniides iEgyptiacae," in the year 1810. 

On leaving Corpus Christi College. 165 

Shall see thee but with such a gush of soul 
As flows from him who welcomes some dear face 
Lost in his childhood. Yet not lost to me 
Art thou : for still my heart exults to own thee, 
And memory still, and friendship make thee mine. 

June 28, 181 1. 



They say I am no faithful swain, 
Because I do not fold my arms, 
And gaze and sigh, and gaze again, 

And curse my fair one's fatal charms. 
I cannot weep, I cannot sigh, 
My fair one's heart laughs in her eye. 
I cannot creep like weary wight, 
My fair one's step is free and light. 

When fix'd in memory's mirror dwells 
Some dear-lov'd form to fleet no more, 

Transform'd as by Arabian spells, 
We catch the likeness we adore. 
Then ah ! who would not love most true ? 
Who would not be in love with you ? 
So might he learn the bliss of heart 
Which waits on those who bliss impart, 
Might learn through smiles and tears to shine 
Like Angels, and like Caroline. 


i6 7 

$. Thought an a fine Wkxtnin$> 

God's mercy is in the pure beam of Spring : 

The gale of morning is His blessed breath, 

Cheering created things, that as they drink 

At these low founts of intermitting joy 

Their souls may bless Him, and with quicken'd thirst 

Pant for the river of life, and light of heaven. 

O, sun-bright gleams, and ye unfolding depths 

Of azure space, what are ye but a pledge 

And precious foretaste of that cloudless day, 

Gladdening at intervals the good man's heart 

With earnest of infinitude ? The while 

He on his rugged path moves cheerily, 

Toward joys that mock the measuring eye of hope, 

As yon abyss ethereal mocks our gaze. 

March 8, 1812. 


To the nightingale. 

All hail, thou messenger of spring and love, 
Instinct with music, and with blissful thought ! 

What spell unknown from genial southern grove, 
From purer gales, and skies without a blot, 

Does round thy charmed beak and pinions move, 
Mellowing our rude air to receive thy note ? 

Art thou indeed a thing of soulless frame ? 

And heaves that bosom with no minstrel flame ? 

O, no ! for sure those thrilling tones had mind, 
That trembled from beneath the evening star, 

In whose dear light thou sittest as enshrined 
While woods and waves do rustle from afar, 

And to thy varied descant the low wind 

Makes fitful answer, which no sound may mar 

Of beast or meaner bird : they silent all 

Are held by that sweet chain in willing thrall. 

To the Nightingale. 169 

Thy song has language : to each heart of man 
It sounds in unison : but who are they 

Who best thy mystic melodies may scan ? 
The Poet musing at the close of day : 

He who with heavy heart and visage wan 
In thought of vanish' d bliss does sadly stray : 

The lover when his true love is not by, 

And the rapt ear of Heaven-taught infancy. 

Full greedily the joyous infant drinks 

Those wildly quivering notes thou fling' st on high; 
Shuddering in grief's dear joy, the mourner shrinks 

From what he loves, thy sadder melody ; 
And in thy long low strain the lover thinks 

He hears the echo of his lonely sigh : 
And be thy song of joyaunce or of woe, 
Still o'er his inmost heart the Poet feels it flow. 

May 11, 1812. 


Yes, I will stamp her image on my soul, 
Though all unworthy such high portraiture 
Tablet so vile, — for ever to endure. 
Nor, though by fits across my spirit roll 
Dim clouds of anguish, shall my heart give way. 
For not in weak and infant-like distress 
Behoves it the fair moonlight to survey 
Because we cannot grasp it : rather bless 
The dear mild ray that on the throbbing heart 
Falls soft as seraph's glance of kindliest power, 
And doth its melting loveliness impart 
To all it looks upon. In happy hour 
So may I frame my soul to think on thee, 
Whom never but from far these worthless eyes 
may see. 

June, 1812. 


Stanzas addressed to a " ^-laamtj 
Thinker V 

Ah ! cease my friend, that mournful lay ! 

Arouse thee from thy gloomy dream ! 
The clouds that dimmed thy morning's ray 

Shew but more bright thy noon-day gleam. 

Foremost in glory's sun-bright steep, 

Foremost in duty's mild career, 
No drop for thee thy friends shall weep, 

But proud affection's burning tear. 

And when, thy giant course gone by, 
On clouds of bliss thy sun shall fall, 

How joyous then shall Memory's eye 
View sorrows borne at Virtue's call ! 

* I am afraid these were written in answer to some stanzas entitled 
' Gloomy Thoughts," by me. J. T. C. 

172 Sta?izas addressed to a " Gloomy Thinker T 

Then shalt thou know the bliss of blessing, 
Thou, whom no selfish joy could move \ 

In peace thy stedfast soul possessing, 

Rich in good deeds, and good men's love. 

June, 1 81 2. 


My spirit lingers round that blessed space, 
Which prisons her fair form. Still on mine ear 
Like dying notes of angels' minstrelsy 
Her lips' last music dwells. Yet not to me 
O. not to me was pour'd the parting glance, 
Enrapturing anguish : not to me the hand 
Held out in kindness, whose remember'd touch 
Might soothe the absent heart And it is well. 
Why should she think on me? she holds her course 
A happy star in heaven, by gales of bliss 
Lull'd to repose on the soft-bosom'd clouds, 
Or bathing in the pure blue deep of light. 
In grossness I, and mists of earthly sense, 
Creep on my way benighted : half afraid 
To lift my eyes to brightness : or perchance 
If wayward fate so wills, a moment rais'd 
To float an unsubstantial meteor-light, 
Born of this nether air, and there to die. 

June 15, 1812. 


& Wet Bay at Midsummer, 

How mournfully the lingering rain-drops sound, 
As one by one they rustle on the leaves, 
To him who inly groans in sad suspense 
Watching some pale lov'd face ! The summer eve 
Is dimm'd by showers, and murky hues overcast 
The comfortable glow that wont to cheer 
This musing hour. E'en such a mist has hung 
O'er thee, my sister, when-so thou hast look'd 
From thy sad couch o'er lawns and turfy glades, 
Where erst, the lightest in the rural throng, 
Blithesome you roved, in blessing all most blest. 
And as e'en now beneath yon dusky arch 
Bursts unexpected light, so Faith's fond eye 
Looks on to days of health, when smilingly 
We shall recount these long anxieties, 
And bliss be dearer for remember'd woe. 

Ju7ie 23, 1812. 


The First Sight txf the Sua*. 

(Probably written in the Isle of Wight.) 

1 ' For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face : 
now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am 
known. " — I Cor. xiii. 12. 

Visions of vastness and of beauty ! long 

Too long have I neglected ye : content 

Nor to have sooth'd my soul to rest among 

Your evening lullaby of breeze and wave, 

While the low sun retiring glow'd from far 

Like pillar' d gold upon a marble plain ; 

Nor yet wild waked from that deceitful sleep, 

When the storm waved his giant scourge, and rode 

Upon the rising billow, have I sate 

Listening with fearful joy, and pulse that throbbed 

In unison with every bursting wave. 

Yet the strong passion slept within my soul 

Like an unwaken'd sense : e'en as the blind 

b This poem was first printed in " Days and Seasons." 

1 76 The First Sight of the Sea. 

Mingles in one dear dream all softest sounds, 
All smoothest surfaces, and calls it Light. 

Such lovely, formless visions late were mine, 
Dear to remembrance yet : but far more dear 
The present glories of this world of waves. 
So through a glass seen darkly, mortals deem 
Of things eternal : but even now is the hour 
When gales from heaven shall blow, and the true 

Rising in glory o'er the unknown expanse, 
Shall pour at once upon the unbodied soul 
Floods of such blessedness, as mortal sense 
Might not endure, nor spirit pent in flesh 
Imagine dimly. Be my race so run, 
In holy faith, and righteous diligence, 
That purged from earthly film and fear my soul 
May catch her first glimpse of Eternity, 
Mists gradual roll away, and the calm waves 
Still smile and brighten as I draw more near. 

Aug, 5, 1812. 


Written at SidmxmtK 

Why art thou sad, my soul, when all around 
Such loveliness salutes thee ? fragrant airs, 
Bowers of unfading green, soft murmuring brooks, 
Gay sunny slopes that wear their vernal hues, 
Mocking the breath of winter ; gorgeous cliffs, 
And Ocean's awful pageantry \ — and more 
And dearer far, soft smiles, and radiant eyes. 
Thou wert not wont with dim and tearful gaze 
To look on these ; — then wherefore art thou sad ? 

Thou art not here : far distant many a mile 
Thou lingerest, nor beneath a genial sky ; 
Hovering unseen around th' untimely couch 
Of her, thy best beloved : and thou dost grieve 
Because thou art not of that happy choir 
That holds sweet evening converse at her side ; 
Because thou sharest not that pledge of peace 


Written at Sidmouth. 

A father's nightly orison ; because 
Hearts knit to thine as its own vital flakes 
Partake not of thy wonderings, and thy joys. 
I stifle not thy sighs. Tis meet that thou should'st 

Jan. i, 1813. 


To a B&ve urnl^r Ijigh Jfeak, Sidmouth. 

I love thee well, thou solitary Cave, 

Though thee no legend, or of war or love, 

Or mermaid issuing from her coral grove 

Ennoble : nought beside the fretful wave 

That round thy portal arch doth idly rave, 

Has waked thine echoes ; nor in lonely age 

Has seaman sought thee for his hermitage, 

That ocean's voice might lull him to his grave. 

I love thee for his sake who brought me here, 

Companion of my wildered walk, and bore 

A part in all those visions dim and dear 

In which my tranced spirit loves to soar, 

When gales sigh soft, and rills are murmuring near, 

And evenly the distant billows roar. 

Feb. si, 1813. 


Ta tlw Memtxty ot fohn heyden % MM. 

O, mournful on our ears the wild harp died 
When the bard sang farewell to Teviotside ; 
And gentle hearts, while thou wert far away, 
Own'd sad misgivings for thy plaintive lay. 
Ah, too prophetic ! in the flush of years 
Sweet minstrel, far from thine Aurelia's tears, 
Thy glorious task hath bowed thee to the tomb. 
Most mournful, yet most blessed was thy doom ! 

Most blessed was thy doom, the rural Muse 
Dropp'd on thy cradled head her blandest dews, 
And melting hues of moonlight loveliness, 
And fairy forms thy childish eyne would bless. 
Thou, too, hadst learn'd to love ; and not in vain. 
If right I guess, was pour'd thy soothing strain. 

c Dr. John Leyden, who assisted Sir Walter Scott in procuring materials 
and illustrations for the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," died as Pro- 
fessor of the Native Dialects in the Bengal College, Calcutta, in the year 
1811. He was engaged in translating the Holy Scriptures at the time of 
his death into seven languages into which they had not then been translated. 
A small volume of his poems was published in 1821, which contained some 
very beautiful pieces, now, it is to be feared, entirely forgotten ; one es- 
pecially, an Address to an Indian Gold Coin. 

To the Memory of John Ley den, M.D. 181 

To each fond note that down the valley sigh'd 
Some chord within thy fair one's heart replied ; 
Breathless she listen'd for the song of love, 
Nor miss'd the nightingale from Teviot's grove. 
Most blessed was thy doom : to thy bold glance 
Flew wide the gorgeous portals of Romance ; 
From living gems that deck her mystic cell 
Thine eye caught lustre, and the sacred spell 
Of high chivalric song upon thy spirit fell. 
O, sweeter than the music of the grove, 
The border clarion, or the lute of love, 
Those angel-notes that on thy dying ear 
Fell soft, recalling all thy soul held dear, 
All bright remembrances of deeds well done, 
Of Mercy's work for half mankind begun, 
All the calm joys of hearts in virtue sure, 
All holy longings, all affections pure, 
With thy free soul in bliss for ever to endure. 

Feb. 5, 1813. 


0n \xmn$ requested t& twite same 

Verses in a Friend's ftamman- 

pl&ce-bosxk \ 

Nay, ask not for a lay of mine, 

Too fitful is my spirit's gleam ; 
With wavering and unsteady shine 

It mocks me like a lover's dream. 

And O, my heart is all too weak, 
And all too faltering is my tongue ; 

I cannot gain, I dare not seek 

The ennobling meed of sacred song. 

For lofty look, and open brow, 
Heart fearless in its glorious aim, 

That shrinks not from the slanderer's blow 
Shrinks not from aught save wise men's 
blame ; 

d Written by himself in my book. J. T. C. 

Nay, ask ?iot for a lay of mine. 183 

These, and the self-possessing mind 

That views unmoved, though not in scorn, 

All earth-born aims of lowlier kind, 
With the true bard should all be born. 

But I, — if e'er from dewy eye 

Or summer sun my soul catch fire, — 

Too soon the lights of minstrelsy 

Quench'd in some gale of care expire. 

Nor upward to its native heaven 

Ascends the altar-flame ; but wild 
By some capricious passion driven 

Leaves all forlorn Hope's dreaming child. 

March 15, 1 813. 


A Ballad founded on a tradition still preserved 
at Salcombe Eegis, Devon. 

" O, heard ye not the night-wind's roar 
How in his rage he swept the cove ? 

O, father, hie thee to the shore, 

My heart is shuddering for my love/' 

• ; Cease, daughter, cease thine idle fears, 

Far off in port he safely sleeps ; 
And now, behold, thy sighs and tears 

Have rous'd thy child ; — poor babe, he weeps. 

" Sing, daughter, sing thy lullaby. 
But when the babe is soothed to rest 

Lend thy light step and eagle eye 
To aid me in my fearful quest. 

Robin Lee. 185 

" For I will hie me to the coast, 

Haply some founder'd bark lies there, 

Or some poor seaman, tempest tost, 
For my son's sake demands my care !" 

She listen'd as his footsteps part, 

She listen'd with a stifled sigh ; 
Then to her child with heavy heart 

She turn'd and sang her lullaby. 

" O, hush thee, poor baby, I like not thy moan, 
Thou need'st not weep, though thy father be gone \ 
The wild winds have borne thy father afar, 
To ride o'er the waves, and to join the war. 

" O, it dwells on my heart how he smiled and 

When he tore him away from his love-lorn bride \ 
Bitter the smile, and boding the sigh, 
And the parting kiss was agony. 

" He said, ' My love, O think on me 
When thou singest thy darling's lullaby ;' 
And all too well have I kept his 'hest, 
For my sighs oft waken thee on my breast. 

1 86 Robin Lee. 

" But see, how my lovely one smiles in sleep ! 
O, may st thou never wake to weep ! 
O, when will such joy as now thou'rt dreaming, 
Upon this darken'd heart be gleaming?" 

Soft was the mother's parting kiss, 

But mingled with a bitter tear ; 
So softly sweet his dream of bliss, 

So bitter sad her dream of fear. 

All as she traced old Robin Lee 
Along that wild and winding dell, 

Responsive to the fitful sea, 

Her bursting bosom rose and fell. 

But when she reach'd the lonely strand, 
For aye that bosom ceas'd to beat • 

Her sire all speechless wrung her hand, 
Her husband's corse lay at her feet ! 

Soft was her infant's sleep the while, 
He dream'd his wonted dream of bliss, 

But when he turn'd with waking smile 
He met no more a mother's kiss. 

Robin Lee. 187 

Seest thou yon grey and woe-worn form 
Slow wandering by the wintry sea, 

Watching with haggard smile the storm ? 
That aged man is Robin Lee. 

And that lorn boy, whose eager eye 
Wanders so wild from wave to wave, 

Sings a sad soothing lullaby 

Each evening o'er his parents' grave. 

April 10, 1 813. 


$tan^as an leamng $idmauth* 


Ye lingering hours speed on ! with infant haste 

My heart springs homeward, springs to meet the 

Which but in one dear spot it ne'er can taste, 
Joy's surest pledge, the dear domestic kiss. 

Yet ere I leave thee, vale of many flowers, 
My lowly harp would whisper one farewell ; 

Though glad to go, I linger in thy bowers, 
And half could wish thou wert my native dell. 

For oft from rustling copse, or fountain's flow, 
Thine echoes soft have thrill' d mine heart along, 

Lulling each wayward care and dream of woe, 
And the wild wave made solemn undersong. 

Oft has the conscious freedom swell' d my breast, 
As on thy downs I drank the rushing gale, 

Or mark'd, far stretching in the dark blue West, 
The buoyant glories of the sun-bright sail. 

Stanzas on leaving Sidmouth. 189 

And but my spirit seared by sorrow's brand 
Can taste no more the bitter sweets of love, 

Some fairy queen of that enchanted land 

Had heard my harpings in the moonlight grove. 

Forbidden is that dearest thrill to me. 

But I can feel and bless the kindly gale. 
That in thy bowers of ease and rural glee 

Cheers the forlorn, and bids the stranger hail. 

April 17, 1 813. 


How can I leave thee all unsung, 

While my heart owns thy dear control ; 
And Heaven and Love have o'er thee flung 

The softest moonlight of the soul ? 
O, I have long'd for thee to call 
Soft echo from the West Wind's hall, 

Some notes as blithely wild to seek, 
As the wild music of thy voice, 
As the wild roses that rejoice 

In thine eyes' sunshine on thy glowing cheek. 

For not the breath of mortal praise 

Thine artless beauty* dares profane ; 
For thee wild Nature wakes her lays, 

And thy soul feels the blessed strain. 
The song that breaks the grove's repose, 
The shower-drop rustling on the rose, 

The brooklet's morning melody, — 
To these with soft and solemn tone 
Thy spirit stirs in unison, 

Owning the music of its native sky. 

" Nunquam Auditurce" 191 

And when in some fair golden hour 

Thy heart-strings shall give back the sigh 

Of Love's wild harp, no earthly bower 
Shall lend such hues as bloom to die ; 

But earnest of the eternal spring 

Their amarant wreaths shall angels bring, 
And preluding the choir of heaven 

Soft Eden gales shall sweep the lyre, 

And star-like points of guiltless fire 
From God's own altar-flame to gem thy brow be given 

It is my pride that I can deem 

Though faintly, of that being's worth, 
Who to th' All-gracious Mind shall seem 

Meet help for thee in heaven and earth. 
Long as before life's gale I drive 
Shall holiest hope within me live, 

Thee fair, thee blessed while I view, 
And when the port of endless rest 
Receives me, may my soul be blest 

With everlasting, endless gaze on you. 

April 13, 1813. 


Sonnet e u cbxxcetnmg tiw Tnts tfxwt," 

Whom blesseth most the gentle dew of heaven? 

Whose heart is sweetest thrill'd by Nature's song ? 

Who in still musings moonlight bowers among 
Drinks purest light from the soft star of Even ? 
Is it not he who knows whence each is given ? 

Who, not unweeting of that Ocean source 

Whence springs each stream of glory, where in 
This lower world first compass'd, all are driven. 
Sees upon each fair thing the stamp and seal 
Of Him who made it ; hears and owns His voice 
Linking all harmonies ? but most his heart 
The impulse of its master-key doth feel, 
And in the consciousness of Heaven rejoice. 
When woman duly plays her angel-part. 

Aug. 8, 1813. 

e Written at the end of an essay on the Lake Poets, which concluded 
with mentioning their beautiful exhibition of female character. 


Ta $. T. ®. f with f etrarca. 

These are the workings of a spirit pure, 
And high and zealous • one of those elect 
Whom the All-wise hath beckon'd from the crowd 
Of meaner souls, to set their thrones on high 
Among the sons of men. Do thou, my friend, 
My Coleridge ! spirit zealous, pure, and high ! 
Accept them, not misdeeming of their worth, 
Because the worldly and the sensual slight 
Their precious fragrance, all too fine for nerves 
Gross and unpurged as theirs. But thou hast 

Among the gardens of true Poesy, 
And every nectar-dew that drops at eve, 
And every balmy steam that mom exhales, 
Hath steep'd thy soul in gladness. Thou wilt love 
The laurell'd bard, whether his burning wire, 
Touch' d by the sun-beam of reviving Rome, 
Ring out, as Memnon's erst, and rouse the sons 
Of his own Italy to arms and song : 

T94 lo J. T. C, with Petrarca. 

Or chant his hermit hymn to Heaven and Love, 
Soft, yet severe : for Piety had framed 
The melody, and every wilder chord 
Was temper'd to her solemn undersong. 
So Love seem'd what he is, — a spirit devout, 
Owning God most in His most beauteous work. 
Such shalt thou feel, and such for thee be felt, 
My Coleridge ! at the appointed hour, if Heaven 
Loathe not my daily suit ; — for I have tried 
And known thee. I have proved thee true and kind, 
Wise for the simple, for the wavering firm ; 
And much it grieves me that in Life's dark maze 
So soon our paths shall sever. 

Fare thee well ! 
And as along the lowly vale I wind, 
Scale thou untired, yet sometimes making sign 
That thou rememberest me, the mountain's height \ 
And be thy glory as thy virtue ! yet, 
Yet once again, insatiable of good 
For thee and thine, my tide of gratitude 
Must flow towards Heaven, for I am nought below 
O, Thou All-merciful ! Be these my friends 
Beneath Thy wing for ever ! Visit them 

To J. T. C, with Petrarca. 195 

With daily blessings, nightly dreams of bliss ! 

Be Memory still their comforter, be Hope 

Their constant guide ; and wise and good men's 

Their stay on earth. Be Thou their rest in 

heaven ! 

Sept. 14, 1813. 


Tell me, ye maidens fair and wise, 
Who joy in Nature's loveliness, 

What forms, what hues in earth or skies 
Doth Beauty most delight to bless ? 

Comes she on ^utumn's sounding wing, 

Or on the frolic breath of Spring ? 

Dwells she beneath that banner bright 
That o'er the car of Morning streams, 

Or trembling in the w r an moonlight 

When faint the rose of Evening gleams ? 

Kindles her eye with Hope's full blaze, 

Or melts in Memory's lingering gaze ? 

If right I guess, our hearts beguiling, 
By turns she pours her fairy glance, 

Now in Regret all sadly smiling, 

Now fix'd in Faith's prophetic trance : 

Still luring us to heaven, our home, 

By bliss gone by, or bliss to come. 

Oct. 12, 1813. 


OxLe an the Wict&ths in tlue 

What mountain-echoes roll 
Across the roughening main ? 
Is it the torrent's voice that shakes my soul ? 
Is it the wolf wild howling o'er the slain? 
That torrent in its stormy might 

Hath swept a thousand flags away, 
That blithely danced in glory's light 

Mocking the sun of yesterday. 
Long o'er Biscaya's lonely wold 

That war-wolf's howl, at midnight hour 
Hath scared the watchers of the fold ; 
Now walks he forth at noon in vengeance to devour. 

] 9S Ode on the Victories i?i the Pyrenees ', 1813. 

In justice walks he forth : 
Before his red eye's glare 
They shrink, the wasters of the smiling earth, ■ 
They bow themselves, they sicken with despair. 
Dash'd from their foul unholy grasp 

The silver-winged Eagle lies, 
Each tyrant draws one wildering gasp, 

Curses his anguish once, and dies. 
Then from Cantabria's cloudy height 

Freedom in thunder spake to Spain, 
Her pealing voice dispers'd the night 
Of mist that long had hovefd o'er her mountain 

Doth yet one lingering war-note dwell 
In arched grot or bowery dell, 
Of that triumphant clarion blast 
O'er rock, and copse, and torrent cast 
From Ronceval's immortal fight ; 
That told how many a prowest knight, 
Hurl'd headlong from his seat of pride, 
Beneath thy grasp, Iberia, died ? 

Ode on the Victories in the Pyrenees ', 1813. 199 

Wake, Echo, from thy sleep of years ! 
Pour, long and loud, that solemn melody ! 
Let it arise like chanted orison 
Toward heaven-gate. The holy work is done, 
Britain hath wiped Iberia's tears 
And Ronceval beheld the Christians' victory ! 

July 30, 1813. 

2 00 

®, statj *thee yfit, &?♦ 

O, stay thee yet, bright image, stay, 
Fleet not so fast from this sad heart ; 

Cheer yet awhile my weary way, 
Nor e'en with parting life depart. 

Let Memory paint thee as she will, 
Whether all blithe in childhood's smile, 

Or with that look so meek and still 
That wayward care so well could guile ; 

Or languishing like lily pale, 

That waits but till the sunlight cease, 
Then hides her in her dewy veil, 

And bows her head, and sleeps in peace. 

Most angel-like ! I trust in Heaven 
That yet some impress faint of thee 

May to this wearied heart be given, 
All sad and earth-worn though it be. 

O, stay Thee yet, &*c. 201 

Who wears so bright a gem within, 

How should his heart from God remove ? 

How can he change for toys of sin 
The earnest of a seraph's love ? 

For well I guess, — and oft my soul 
Holds tearful triumph in the dream, — 

That when Religion's soft control 

Lights me with pure and placid beam ; 

When I do good and think aright, 
At peace with man, resign'd to God, 

Thou look'st on me with eyes of light, 
Tasting new joy in Joy's abode. 

But in my dark and evil hour 

When wan despair mine eyelids seals, 

When worldly passions round me lower, 
And all the man corruption feels, 

Thou turn'st not then thine eyes below, 
Or clouds of glory beam between, 

Lest earthly pangs of fear or woe 
Upon an angel's brow be seen. 

202 O, stay Thee yet, e>r. 

By one alone, — thy sister saint, — 
Thou watchest e'en in grief and ill ; 

Though on her couch of woe she faint, 
Thine eye of joy is on her still. 

For well thou know'st her every tear 
Becomes a deathless gem in heaven ; 

To every pang well suffer'd here 
A suffering Saviour's love is given. 

June 16, 1814, 
The day of his sister Sarah's death. 

When I behold yon arch magnificent 

Spanning the gorgeous West, the autumnal bed 
Where the great Sun now hides his weary head, 
With here and there a purple isle, that rent 
From that huge cloud, their solid continent, 
Seems floating in a sea of golden light, 
A fire is kindled in my musing sprite, 
And Fancy whispers, such the glories lent 
To this our mortal life : most glowing fair 
But built on clouds, and melting while we gaze. 
Yet since those shadowy lights sure witness bear 
Of One not seen, the undying Sun and Source 
Of good and fair, who wisely them surveys, 
Will use them well to cheer his heavenward 

Sunday, Oct. 20, 1816. 


hines sent with th-e &it;jes of Eidljetj 
and Bmnmer. 

Thou, whom with proud and happy heart I call 
Mine, first by birth, but more by love unfeign'd, 
And by that awful warfare most of all, 
To which by holiest vows w T e are constrained, 
Brother, behold thy calling ! These are they, 
Who arm'd themselves with Prayer, and boldly tried 
Wisdom's untrodden steeps, and won their way ; 
God's Word their lamp, His Spirit was their guide. 
These would not spare their lives for fear or ruth ; 
Therefore their God was with them, and the glare 
Of their death-fires still lights the land to Truth, 
To shew what might is in a Martyr's prayer. 
Read, and rejoice ; yet humbly ; for our strife 
Is perilous like theirs ; for Death or Life. 

Jan. 5, 1817. 

20 = 

Jfci §a(xket f $ Tomb f . 

The grey-eyed Morn was sadden' d with a shower, 

A silent shower, that trickled down so still, 

Scarce droop'd beneath its weight the tenderest 

Scarce could you trace it on the twinkling rill. 
Or moss -stone bathed in dew. It was an hour 
Most meet for prayer beside thy lowly grave, 
Most for thanksgiving meet, that Heaven such power 
To thy serene and humble spirit gave. 
"Who sow good seed with tears shall reap in joy." 
So thought I as I watch'd the gracious rain, 
And deem'd it like that silent sad employ 
Whence sprung thy glory's harvest, to remain 
For ever. God hath sworn to lift on high 
Who sinks himself by true humility. 

Aug. 1817. 

f The original MS. is on a half-sheet of foolscap paper, folded, with 
a piece of dried wall-rue in it, no doubt gathered on the spot. 


3?nrward g . 

M The hope which is laid up for you in heaven." — Col. 

The traveller h , when his time is short, 
Speeds, careless of the rugged way ; 

He lingers not for village sport, 
He lingers not for landscape gay. 

The birds his woodland path beside, 
Riot in wildest bliss of song; 

The moonlight streams so sweetly glide,- 
He dares not look, or linger long. 

The Christian knows his time is short, 
But oh ! the way is rough and drear ; 

And bowers of bliss are nigh, to court 
His spirit from its high career. 

s First printed in " Days and Seasons." 

h Composed during a hard trot on the Witney road, on a Monday morn- 
ing, March, 1818, 

Forward. 207 

Let him not swerve ; for storms and night 

The erring soul have oft opprest : 
But who rides on is sure of light 

To guide him to his promis'd rest. 


Early Visions ♦ 

Farewell, bright visions of my lonely hours, 
Gay dreams of buoyant hope, a long farewell ! 

No room for me in Hymen's holy bowers : 
I have no part in Love's delightful spell. 

Still must I hold alone my weary course, 
No tender arm upon mine arm to lean ; 

No kind and loving eye, whose gentle force 

From selfish grief my wayward heart might wean. 

Deep in the windings of a bowery dale, 

(A spot where angels might delight to roam,) 

Haunt of each sun-bright hue, each fragrant gale, 
Presumptuous fancy built my pastoral home. 

And many a flower adorn'd the low-roof'd hall, 
And round the half-hidden casement cluster'd fair, 

And hard beside the ivy-mantled wall, 

In holiest beauty rose the House of Prayer. 

Early Visions. 209 

The sound of rivulets was not far away, 
Of soft rains rustling on the dewy eaves ; 

Or of that mimic shower when west winds play 
At random in the trembling poplar-leaves. 

Birds, lambs, and children made our vocal quire, 
With here and there a village roundelay \ — 

Such tones as careless flung from Nature's lyre, 
Best help two faithful hearts to love and pray. 

No louder sound might our sweet rest annoy, 
Save that companion of our twilight hours, 

Sobering with thoughts of heaven our earthly joy, 
The church-bell's voice went round our quiet 

Nor seem'd the holy invitation vain ; — 

Duly at morn and eve (so spake my dream) 

From rest, or labour done, a rustic train, 

Pursued the churchway path beside the stream. 


0n a Mtxnummt in hichfi&ld 
Cathedral \ 

This cannot be the sleep of death, 
Or sure it must be sweet to die ; 

So calm, this holy roof beneath, 
On such a quiet couch to lie. 

Each gently pressing, gently prest, 
To slumber in each other's arms ; 

This shrinking to her sister's breast, 
For shelter from all earth's alarms, 

With such entire and perfect trust, 
That e'en in sleep she seems to say, 

" I shall lie safe, I know I must, 
My Ellen holds me night and day." 

' Printed, but without the four last stanzas, in " Church Poetry." 18 

On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral. 211 

The other with maturer grace, 

In dawn of thoughtful womanhood, 

Half upward turns her fair, meek face, 
As if an angel o'er her stood. 

As calm her brow, as sure her faith, 
But more than infants use, she knew 

(If right I guess,) of Life, and Death, 
Of Death, and Resurrection too. 

Already now her ear began 

The depths of solemn sound to trace ; 
The thrilling joys that round her ran 

When music fill'd this holy place. 

Yon dark-arch ? d galleries, high aloof, 

The glory and the mystery 
Of long-drawn aisle and fretted roof, 

Already caught her wondering eye. 

And she would gaze, when morning's glow 
Through yonder gorgeous panes was streaming, 

As if in every niche below 

Saints in their glory-robes were gleaming. 

212 On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral. 

To thee, dear maid, each kindly wile 
Was known that elder sisters know, 

To check the unseasonable smile 

With warning hand, and serious brow. 

From dream to dream with her to rove, 
Like fairy nurse with hermit child : 

Teach her to think, to pray, to love, 
Make grief less bitter, joy less wild; 

These were thy tasks : and who can say, 
What visions high, what solemn talk, 

What flashes of unearthly day, 

Might bless them in their evening walk ? 

Oft as with arms and hearts entwined 
They mused aloud, this twilight hour, 

What awful truths high God hath shrined 
In every star, and cloud, and flower ! 

But one day, when the glorious theme 
Seem'd but to mock their feeble sight ; 

As they look'd up from earth's dark dream 
To worlds where all is pure and bright, 

On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral. 213 

Strong in the strength of infancy, 

In little children's wisdom wise, 
They heard a Voice, " Come home to Me 

Yours is the kingdom of the skies." 

Their home is won, their simple faith 
Is crown' d : in peace behold they lie. 

This cannot be the sleep of death, 
Or sure it must be sweet to die. 

But thou, fond man, whose earth-bound eye, 

By sorrow dimm'd, but more by sin, 
Thus vainly strains itself to spy 
The purer world that liv'd their innocent hearts 
within ; 

Back, soldier ! to thy daily strife ! 

The virgin whiteness of thy shield 
Is sullied ; nor till setting life 
Can their enjoyments be to thee reveaPd. 

214 On a Monument iri Lichfield Cathedral. 

Only this secret take with thee, 

And let it calm each murmuring thought, 
The blissful rest thou here dost see, 
By vigils of deep agony was bought. 

And He, whose Blood the purchase made, 

Yet guards it. Make His arms thine home. 
As soft a veil thine eyes shall shade, 
To soothe thy wearied soul as glorious visions come. 

July 22, 1 8 19. 


Jfct ffunshurst 

Not the dark shade of thy majestic groves, 
Not the rich verdure of thine oaken bowers, 
Not thy fair winding stream that wanton roves 
By tufted lawns, and sloping banks of flowers ; 
Not e'en those awful and time-honour'd towers, 
That in their grey old age yet seem to shine 
As bright with glory as in those high hours 
When some new trophy of the illustrious line, 
By high-soul'd chiefs, and bards of strains divine 
O'er the arch'd portal day by day was hung : 
Nor yet that sacred oak, the undying shrine 
Of Sidney's name by all the Muses sung, 
Have lured us, Penshurst, here : a holier shade 
Haunts thee. We come to pray where Hammond 


IjammxmxTs £rat}£* 

Meek, pastoral, quiet souls, whoe'er ye be, 
Who love to ply in peace your daily task, 
Nor of your gracious God find aught to ask, 
But what may help you in Eternity. 
Kind spirits, sooth' d and cheer'd by all you meet, 
Soothing and cheering all yourselves no less, 
Because in all ye see ye own and bless 
A God who loves you, and accepts your love : 
Would ye find out a fitting tomb ? These firs, 
Their sea-like dirge soft whispering day and night, 
Hither your weary wandering steps invite. 
These yew-trees' massive shade, that hardly stirs 
On the grey tomb-stones : all the still churchyard, 
Not mingling with the haunts of men, yet seen 
From some few cottage-windows o'er the green, 
(As if just so much of the world it shared, 
As might wake Charity, and silence Pride,) 
Come take your rest with these, by holy Hammond's 
Sept. 9, 1819. 


Spring Flowers \ 

The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth, 
And they first feel the sun \ so violets blue, 
So the soft star-like primrose drenched in dew, 

The happiest of Spring's happy, fragrant birth. 

To gentlest touches sweetest tones reply. 

Still humbleness with her low-breathed voice 

Can steal o'er man's proud heart, and win his choice 

From earth to heaven, with mightier witchery 

Than eloquence or wisdom e'er could own. 

Bloom on then in your shade, contented bloom, 

Sweet flowers, nor deem yourselves to all unknown. 

Heaven knows you, by whose gales and dews ye 

They know, who one day for their alter'd doom 

Shall thank you, taught by you to abase themselves 
and live. 
April, 1820. 

k First printed in the " Casket," 1829. 


0n tlw ©orth Eaad, 

Yon tower that gleams against the blackening east, 
Borrowing such haughty radiance of the sun, 
Stands like a Christian in the dark cold world, 
Confronting, in the glory Heaven has lent, 
The loathsomeness of ill, and making sin 
The fouler for its fairness. On his way 
The traveller pauses with insatiate gaze, 
And turns his back upon Heaven's fountain fire, 
To admire its faint reflection in man's work. 
Vain moralizer ! Know'st thou not thyself? 
Aug. 25, 1 82a 


Mmttxn 6Uff, near ^Ahotough* 

Written on the occasion of Mrs. Arnold's Birthday, 
ten days after her marriage. 

Blow fresh and fair, thou cheerful summer breeze, 
Let rustling corn, light reeds, and wavy trees, 
Join the soft swell of Trent's majestic wave. 
All sounds that loudest tell of Nature's life, 
Bespeaking mirth, and joy, and mimic strife, 
Blend with a few low notes in measure glad but grave. 

And be the time when the last summer sun 
From his meridian throne has just begun 

To slope his westering course ; let one soft cloud 
Mantling around him pour its liquid glow 
O'er wood, and dale, and tower and spire below, 
And in its showery skirts the horizon blue enshroud. 

220 Newton Cliff , near Fledborongh. 

So may the various view best answer make 
To thoughts that in their bosoms are awake, 
Who now on this sequester' d terrace roam, 
With eyes now wandering round the prospect wide, 
Now fondly fix'd where all their hearts abide, 
On one dear shelter'd spot, their sacred, happy home. 

And if those eyes I read not all amiss, 
The day seems richer in its tearful bliss, 

Than even in its gayest hours of mirth. 
Sweet dreams, sweet hopes, sweet recollections rise, 
And she who now is hidden from their eyes 
Seems closer to their hearts, their best -beloved on 

O, then, blest tenants of the sweetest isle 
That ever welcom'd with its soothing smile 

Tired wanderers o'er the world's tempestuous 
Mourn not though henceforth one lov'd footstep 

Your consecrated turf may duly press, 
And tend your quiet bowers, enjoying and enjoy'd. 

Newto?i Cliff, near Fledborongh. 221 

Look how yon stream, of you belov'd so well, 
Is lovelier, sometimes plunging in his dell, 

And lost in winding round his verdurous wall, 
Than if to broad bright sunshine all the way 
He held his mirror : so this happy day 
Shines happier through such tears as now from you 
may fall. 

So, too, your own fair garden fairer shews 
For the grey tombs that in its grass repose, 

And solemn arches with your flowers inwreathing, 
Where round the church, as from its central shrine, 
The charm of love domestic, love divine, 
O'er every little leaf by day and night is breathing. 

Happy, who know their happiness not here ! 

To whom sad thoughts of time and change are dear, 

As bearing earnest of eternal rest ; 
Who at Love's call, or Death's, contented part, 
And feel Heaven's peace the deeper in their heart, 
Brooding like fondest dove upon her darling nest 
Aug. 21, 1820. 


Btj. an Bid Badwlar trsrt} xiis£ansalat£ 
at parting with his Faur Wiws \ 

Is it not sad dear friends should part 
Ere each has to the other shewn 
More than one little corner of a heart ? 
Were it not better to abide unknown ? 

Nay, but in this dull, darkling earth 

If more than transient gleams were given 
Of full confiding love, and the heart's mirth, 
'Twould surely steal our spirits frail from 

Then let us thankfully forego 

What fancy loves to paint so bright, 
Nor grieve our sweetest solace here to know, 
Like our last hope, by faith and not by sight. 

Aug. 30, 1822. 

1 This and the following poem were addressed to the daughters of the 
Rev. Mr. Pruen, curate to the Rev. Stafford Smith, Mr. Keble's godfather. 


To tlw $am£, 

Mary, Margaret, Anne, Eliza, 

Silent maidens of the mill, 
Hear a culprit's sad confession, 

Whom your frowns would almost kill. 

You were plying heads and elbows, 
Puzzling all your cyphering wit, 

Fidgeting in twenty postures, 
Polls were scratch'd, and nails were bit. 

I, meantime, ungrateful varlet, 

Quite forgetting all my vows, 
(If I could, I'd blush like scarlet,) 

Was gone up to Craycombe house. 

Now so sad the pangs of conscience, 

I am wasted, bark and pith, 
Like a wither' d branch of elder, 

(So says Mrs. Stafford Smith). 

224 To the Same. 

Spare me in consideration 

Of my weak and nervous state : 

Think, when I am drown'd in Avon, 
Your regret may come too late. 

I should spoil my Sunday waistcoat, 
Oxford lose her fairest sprig, 

And I'd haunt, I do assure you, 
Haunt you in a doctor's wig ! 


The &M&. 

There was a young rook, and he lodged in a nook 

Of grandpapa's tallest elm-tree ; 
There came a strong wind, not at all to his mind, 

All out of the north-west countree. 

With a shrill piping sound this wind whistled round, 
The boughs they all danced high and low ; 

Rock, rock went the nest, where the birds were at 
Till over and over they go. 

Uncle John walking round saw the rook on the 
And smoothed it, and wish'd to revive , 
Anne, Robert and Hill, they all tried their skill 
In vain ; the poor rook would not live. 

226 The Rook. 

And if in your fun round the orchard you run, 

You really would wonder to see, 
How sticks, moss and feather are strewed by the 

Beneath each old racketing tree. 

Tis a very bad wind, as in proverbs we find, 

The wind that blows nobody good ; 
I have read it in books ; yet sure the young rooks 

Would deny it to-day if they could. 

They sure would deny, but they cannot well try, 
Their cawing not yet have they leanvd ; 

And 'tis just as well not \ for a fancy I've got, 
How the wind to some use may be turn'd. 

Do you see Martha Hunt, how she bears all the brunt 

Of the chilly, damp, blustering day \ 
How gladly she picks all the littering sticks ! 

Her kettle will soon boil away. 

How snug she will sit by the fireplace and knit, 

While Daniel her fortune will praise. 
The wind roars away, — " Master Wind,'' they will say, 

"We thank you for this pretty blaze." 

The Rook. 227 

Then spite of the rooks, what we read in the books 

Is true, and the storm has done good. 
It seems hard, I own, when the nests are o'erthrown, 

But Daniel and Martha get wood. 


$. Thought up<m taking keaue (xf 
same Friends. 

How varied, how rich, in the light-curtain'd west 
Glow the tints that the sun's setting majesty veil, 

When through bright clouds disporting he sinks into 
And sheds his last radiance o'er mountain and dale. 

But the soft summer landscape shall soon fade away, 
As twilight draws o'er it her mantle of dew ; 

The sky gleam no more with the gilding of day, 
And silence and dimness overshadow the view. 

Yet lingering awhile, the last remnant of light 

Through the dark blue expanse shoots a silvery 

And faint glimmering mildly recals to the sight 

The charms that late shone in the landscape of day. 


A Thought upon taking Leave of some Friends. 229 

So fleet the blithe visions of friendship and joy, 
So fancy the dream of delight can restore, 

And in fond recollection again we descry 

Faint-imaged those pleasures that now are no more. 


%mn for the Jtnntmciatian m < 

St. Luke xi. 27. 

Oh ! Thou who deign'st to sympathize 
With all our frail and fleshly ties, 

Maker, yet Brother dear, 
Forgive the too presumptuous thought, 
If, calming wayward grief, I sought 

To gaze on Thee too near. 

Yet sure 'twas not presumption, Lord, 
; Twas Thine own comfortable word 

That made the lesson known : 
Of all the dearest bonds we prove, 
Thou countest sons' and mothers' love 

Most sacred, most Thine own. 

1:1 Vide the Preface, p. x. 

Hymn for the Annunciation. 23 1 

When wandering here a little span, 
Thou took'st on Thee to rescue man, 

Thou hadst no earthly sire : 
That wedded love we prize so dear, 
As if our heaven and home were here, 

It lit in Thee no fire. 

On no sweet sister's faithful breast 
Would'st Thou Thine aching forehead rest, 

On no kind brother lean ; 
But who, O perfect filial heart, 
E'er did like Thee a true son's part, 

Endearing, firm, serene ? 

Thou wept'st, meek maiden, mother mild, 
Thou wept'st upon thy sinless Child, 

Thy very heart was riven : 
And yet, what mourning matron here 
Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear 

By all on this side heaven ? 

A Son that never did amiss, 
That never shamed His Mother's kiss, 
Nor cross'd her fondest prayer : 

232 Hymn for the Annunciation, 

E'en from the tree He deign'd to bow 
For her His agonized brow, 
Her, His sole earthly care. 

Alas ! when those we love are gone, 
Of all sad thoughts, 'tis only one 

Brings bitterness indeed \ 
The thought what poor, cold, heartless aid 
We lent to cheer them while they stayed ; 

This makes the conscience bleed. 

Lord, by Thy love, and by Thy power, 
And by the sorrows of that hour, 

Let me not weep too late. 
Help me in anguish meet and true 
My thankless words and ways to rue, 

Now justly desolate. 

By Thine own Mother's first caress, 

Whom Thou with smiles so sweet didst bless, 

'Twas heaven on earth to see ; 
Help me, though late, to love aright 
Her who has glided from my sight, 

To rest (dear Saint) with Thee. 

Hymn for the Annunciation. 233 

Thou knowest if her gentle glance 
Look on us, as of old, to enhance 

Our evening calm so sweet : 
But, Son of Mary, Thou art there. 
O, make us ('tis a mourner's prayer) 

For such dear visits meet. 

June 1, 1823 


& Jjint for a Fable* 

Sun, Moon, and Stars, one day contending sought 
Which should be dearest to a poet's thought. 
The noonday Sun too bright and gay was found, 
In trance of restless joy it whirls us round. 
The Moon, too melting soft, unmans the heart, 
Or peeps too slily where its curtains part, 
Or sweeps too wild across the stormy heaven, 
Behind the rushing clouds at random driven. 
Take Sun and Moon who list ■ I dearer prize 
The pure keen starlight with its thousand eyes, 
Like heavenly sentinels around us thrown, 
Lest we forget that we are not alone \ 
Watching us by their own unearthly light 
To shew how high above our deeds are still in sight. 

On a starlight night, April 15, 1825. 

2 35 

Thou gentle Moon, so lone and sweet, 

Gliding around thy sea of blue, 
How dost thou change, to greet 

Each heart with answer true ! 

When memory heaves too sad a sigh 

For friends and hopes that once were near 

Thou whisperest, " Look on high, 
Perhaps they own thee here." 

When from some pastoral home we gaze 
On thee in thoughtful bliss at even, 

Thy shower of placid rays 
Is like a smile from heaven. 

Sept. 23, 1825. 


fragment an his Sister Ulartj Jinne's 

Sweet bed of death ! how oft to thee 
In joy and woe my heart shall turn : 

How dearer than delight to me 
Thy spirit-soothing lore to learn. 

In thought to watch that angel-face, 
When now the storm had pass'd away, 

And all mine anxious eye could trace 
Was only sweetness in decay. 

O, truest, kindest, gentlest maid ! 

Earth has no words so soft and pure 
That they our dreams of thee should aid, 

But Heaven will help them to endure. 

There is no cloud that floats on high, 

No violet in the dewy vale, 
But breathes of thee, and brings thee nigh ; 

Thy dear memorials cannot fail. 

Sept. 20, 1826. 


IjuntspiU Tamt. 

Cove beyond cove, in faint and fainter line 

I trace the winding shore, and dream I hear 

The distant billows where they break and shine 

On the dark isles. Around us, far and near 

The bright gay breeze is sweeping cheerily, 

Chequering the green moor, like the summer field 

Of ocean, with the shadows of the sky. 

In all' their graceful majesty reveal'd, 

Now purple-shaded, now in playful light, 

To south and north the glorious hills are seen ; 

Where hovering fancy may at will alight 

By pastoral dingle, or deep rocky screen. 

Such airs, like sallies of thy cheerful heart, 

A living joy, dear friend n , to all impart. 

Aug. 3, 1827. 

n The "dear friend" was Noel Thomas Ellison, the Rector of Huntspill : 
whoever knew him would feel as most touching and most characteristic the 
" light sallies" and the "living joy" they imparted. — J. T. C. 

2 3 3 

The £xe below Titrertan at Sunrise. 

Farewell, thou soft Moon, and ye shadowy gleams. 
That haunt the traveller all the summer night ; 
Where under the green boughs the glittering streams 
Dance, blithe as fairies, in the dewy light. 
And welcome from the east, thou beam of day ! 
But by all cheering tones that on thee call 
From matin breeze or wakening bird, I pray, 
Draw gently o'er us thy bright mantling pall \ 
And let the unsated eye have time to trace 
Along the woody fence of this fair dale, 
How, one by one, thy glowing lights give chase 
To the cold mists, and o'er the gloom prevail. 
Hope is at hand, and whispers, " Wait awhile ; 
The darkest shades at dawn may wear the gayest 

Aug. 7, 1827. 

2 39 

% WliU from Txitness on the Tar &aad t 
losing hack 

Dark mountains, happy valley, glorious sky ! 

I know not well, nor boots it to enquire, 
Which of you all I dearest prize, and why : 

Yon purple peaks, that sea of living fire, 
Or the green vale, and feudal towers below 
Where all sweet flowers of peace and home may 

Well are ye match'd, and sweetly do ye blend 
Your grave glad music in the thoughtful heart. 
But if I needs must choose, mine eye would send 
A wistful glance beyond the source of Dart, 
And seize and keep those gorgeous hues above, 
For they are seen far off by those I love. 

Aug. 24, 1827. 


Fairford again. 

The road-side airs are sweet that breathe of home, 

When from their hedge-row nooks the merry flowers 
Greet our return, much wondering they should roam 

Who might have stayed within these pleasant bowers. 
For wonders seen by ocean or by land, 

For treasures won in some far orient clime, 
No ear have they, but leaves by breezes fann'd 

Awake them soon, and showers at morning prime. 
A happy choir • but happier, sweeter still 

The sounds of welcome from the well-known hearth, 
Where gay, home-loving hearts entwine at will 

The living garland of content and mirth. 
Green be the far-off bowers, the skies benign ; 
These only say, " rest here, for we are thine." 

Sept. I, 1827. 


Turning out at the &xmdcm ftaad, 
daum ta Sapper tan* 

Tired of the rude world's angry din, 
Thine ear still echoing with the sounds 

Of toil and strife, of gain and sin, 

Welcome within our peaceful bounds ! 

Come down by moonlight, see the breath 
Of slumbering autumn \ how serene 

'Tis gathering round lone copse and heath. 
And o'er the deep rill's alder screen. 

So silent all, you well might deem 
'Twas midnight on the verge of morn, 

But for the smoke's dim silvery wreath 
From yon low-nestling cot upborne. 


242 Turning out of the London Road, &*c. 

Such dewy breathings of delight 
Who dearly love, and deeply scan, 

May trace in every summer night, 

Heaven teaching earth to comfort man, 

a-/.2,ris 3 5]. 


Uatj, but these are Breezes. 

" What manner of man is this, that even the winds and 
the sea obey Him ?" — St. Matt. viii. 27. 

Nay, but these are breezes bright, 
Currents pure from deeps of light ; 
Bracing to all hearts are they. 
He whom winds and seas obey 
To the children of His love 
Tempers them that they may prove 
Free, not lawless, chastely bold, 
Self-controlling, Heaven-controlled. 
Fear not if strong o'er thee such gales should blow. 
Even when autumnal life might sigh for calm ; 
But test them ere thine heart o'erflow, 
By pureness, and by love's soft balm. 

From the rushing of that breeze 
Far away the ill spirit flees. 
What were else a storm and strife, 
Blotting the last gleam of life, 

244 Nay\ but these are Breezes. 

Now shall waft thee steadily 
Upward through the lucid sky, 
Like the deep air gathering 
Underneath an eagle's wing. 
Then fearless let the sacred whirlwind bear 

Thee, wearied else, where Christlike souls ascend : 
But mark : — no gales may waft thee there, 
But thence were breathed, and homeward tend. 

Oct i, [1835]. 


§aw shall tlue Ittghtjeaus t 

How shall the righteous win their way 
In a dark world of snares, where they 
With jealous care their eyes must hide, 

Lest with the glance the heart be lured aside ? 

How may she know, to mend, her brethren's sin, 
Whom grace baptismal guards from sympathy within ? 

Faith, as she lies on Jesus' breast, 
Will humbly, gently, ask how best 
She unentangled may discern 
The wild wood path, and point the safe return. 
Heaven will instruct her, with averted gaze 
To stoop and reach her arm, and grovelling sinners 


Thm haw bmi miglittj Winds. 

There have been mighty winds on high, 

The hail-clouds fell and keen 
Have marred the mild autumnal sky, 
Just gaily aping Spring's soft eye, 
And rent earth's robe of all but vernal green. 

But now again the West will breathe, 

The storms afar will fleet, 
And clouds above, and woods beneath, 
Weave, ere they fade, one joyous wreath, 
For a kind soothing autumn-farewell meet. 

Oct. 31, 1S35. 


In liarmwitj, &c* 

In Harmony, they say, the part 
Which rules the strain, and wins the heart, 
Is that which children compass best. 
Who learns the lesson, he is blest. 

Two fcamps apart, &c. 

Two lamps apart may brightly burn, 
But brighter if you blend their flame ; 

This lesson may our Churches learn, 
And all who worship in the same. 

24 3 

To E, K,, jun. 

You ask me for a song, my dear ; 
Born with no music in mine ear, 
And harden'd now, and dull'd, I fear, 
By many a care, and many a year. 
But never mind ! of music sweet 
No lack is here the day to greet ; 
Summer and Spring are both in tune 
To honour this fourteenth of June. 
April and May, and June together, 
Have treasur'd up their choicest weather, 
Cloud, verdure, sunlight, shower and breeze, 
And twinkling skies, and waving trees, 
Politely have kept back their store, 
This happy morn to grace the more. 
And hark ! what notes from every bower, 
And whiff ! what gales from every flower. 
Sure if you're not content with these, 
My little Bess, you're hard to please. 

To E. K.,jun. 249 

But if to match this out-door song 
For something nearer home you long, 
I think I know two fairies small, 
And one light elf will come at call. 
And whosoe'er shall see them stand 
With you, my maiden, hand in hand, 
Shall own 'tis music even to see 
Eight round blue eyes so full of glee. 
No need one word to sing or say • 
Your smiles will be a song as gay 
As ever crown'd a wedding-day. 

June 14, 1838. 


Blalujern at a Mstmc*. 

Soft ridge of cloud or mountain ! which thou art 
I know not well ; so delicately fine 
Swells to mine eye the undulating line, 

Where gazing to and fro, as loth to part, 

Unwearied Fancy plies her busy art, 

To trace what lurks in those deep folds of thine, 
Streak'd by the varying heavens with hues divine. 

With me 'tis fancy all ; but many a heart 
Perchance e'en now perusing thee afar 
The meaning reads of every spot and wave 
That seems to stain thee, or thine outline mar. 

Here is their home, and here their father's grave. 
Such is our holy Mount ; all dream it fair, 

Those only know, whom Faith hath nurtured there. 


Fragment \ 

There sate one lonely on a green hill side 

Watching an April cloud : his place of rest 

An upland meadow with its mossy slope 

Losing itself beneath a winding copse, 

Where willow-blossoms glanced in sun and breeze. 

Not noticeable was the spot, unless 

For the rich world, perchance, of vernal flowers, 

That seem'd as each had there a claim by right 

For cradle, home, death-bed, and grave, all one. 

Violets, by hundreds seen, a token were 

Of thousands out of sight : anemones 

In their own sweet fresh-venturing out, or e'er 

The south-wind blow. Around them, most like boys 

Round timid maidens in their hour of play, 

The celandine so bold and open-eyed, 

Singly, or in wild clusters, far and near. 

I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of inserting this sweet picture, in- 
complete as it is. The spot referred to was a very favourite one of the 
Author. It is the upper part of a field on Ladwell Hill, in the parish of 
Hursley, just under the "winding" line of the "copse," in the direction of 
Fieldhouse farm. 



Nor wants there the soft primrose, wheresoe'er 
Advancing hours will draw a veil of shade, 
In her glad quiet nook musing at home. 

Sure 'twas a joyous company : — the more 
For the bright Easter bells, that hardly yet 
Had ceased to stir the noontide air. But he 
Who in the midst reclined, seemed dreaming on 
Of something far away. Was it his flock ? 
For souls were in his charge, and he had vowed 
His cares, his visions, one sole way to turn, — 


Blatj-dat} $ax\Q for the Ijurstey 

April's gone, the king of showers ; 

May is come, the queen of flowers ; 

Give me something, gentles dear, 

For a blessing on the year. 

For my garland give, I pray, 

Words and smiles, of cheerful May : 

Birds of Spring to you we come, 

Let us pick a little crumb. 
In the dew of the morning we gathered our flowers 
From the woodlands, and meadows, and garden 

bowers ; 
And now we have twisted our garland so gay, 
We are come here to wish you a happy May-day. 

May, 1840. 


mother xxut xxf Sights 

Written for the "Lyra Innocentium." 

Saw ye the bright-eyed stately child, 
With sunny locks so soft and wild, 
How in a moment round the room 
His keen eye glanced, then into gloom 
Retired, as they who suffer wrong 
When most assured they look and long ? 
Heard ye the quick appeal, half in dim fear, 
In anger half, " My Mother is not here !" 

Perchance some burthen' d heart was nigh, 
To echo back that yearning cry 
In deeper chords than may be known 
To the dull outward ear alone 

p Vide the Preface, p. xi. 

Mother ottt of Sight. 255 

What if our English air be stirred 
With sighs from saintly bosoms heard, 
Or penitents, to leaning angels dear, 
" Our own, our only Mother is not here." 

The murmurings of that boyish heart 
They hush with many a fostering art. 
Soon o'er the islands of the west 
The weary sun will sink to rest ; 
The rose-tints fade, that gradual now 
Are climbing Ben-y-veer's green brow, 
Soon o'er the loch the twilight stars will peer, 
Then shalt thou feel thy soul's desire is here. 

Lightly they soothe the fair, fond boy, 
Nor is there not a hope and joy 
For spirits that half-orphan'd roam 
Forlorn in their far island home. 
Oft, as in penance lowly bowed, 
Prayer — like a gentle evening cloud 
Enfolds them, through the mist they seem to trace 
By shadowy gleams a royal Mother's face. 

256 Mother out of Sight. 

The holy Church is at their side, 
Not in her robes a glorious Bride : — 
As sister named of Mercy mild 
At midnight by a fever'd child 
Might watch, and to the dim eye seem 
A white stoled angel in a dream, 
Such may the presence of the Spouse appear 
To tender, trembling hearts, so faint, so dear. 

The babe for that sweet vision's sake 
Courts longer trance, afraid to wake ; 
And we for love would fain lie still, 
Though in dim faith, if so He will. 
And wills He not ? Are not His signs 
Around us oft as day declines ? 
Fails He to bless or home, or choral throng, 
Where true hearts breathe His Mother's evensong ? 

Mother of God ! ? not in vain 
We learn'd of old thy lowly strain. 
Fain in thy shadow would we rest, 
And kneel with thee, and call thee blest : 

Mother out of Sight. 257 

With thee would " magnify the Lord," 

And if thou art not here adored, 
Yet seek we, day by day, the love and fear 
Which bring thee, with all saints, near and more near. 

What glory thou above hast won, 
By special grace of thy dear Son, 
We see not yet, nor dare espy 
Thy crowned form with open eye. 
Rather beside the manger meek 
Thee bending with veiled brow we seek. 
Or where the angel in the thrice-great Name 
HaiPd thee, and Jesus to thy bosom came. 

Yearly since then with bitterer cry 
Man hath assail'd the Throne on high, 
And sin and hate more fiercely striven 
To mar the league 'twixt earth and heaven. 
But the dread tie, that pardoning hour. 
Made fast in Mary's awful bower, 

Hath mightier proved to bind than we to break. 

None may that work undo, that Flesh unmake, 

5 8 Mother out of Sight. 

Thenceforth, whom thousand worlds adore, 
He calls thee Mother evermore ; 
Angel nor Saint His face may see 
Apart from what He took of thee. 
How may we choose but name thy name 
Echoing below their high acclaim 
In holy Creeds ? Since earthly song and prayer 
Must keep faint time to the dread anthem there. 

How, but in love on thine own days, 
Thou blissful one, upon thee gaze ? 
Nay every day, each suppliant hour, 
Whene'er we kneel in aisle or bower. 
Thy glories we may greet unblamed, 
Nor shun the lay by seraphs framed, 
" Hail, Mary, full of grace !" O, welcome sweet 
Which daily in all lands all saints repeat 1 

Fair greeting, with our matin vows 
Paid duly to the enthroned Spouse, 
His Church and Bride, here and on high, 
Figured in her deep purity, 

Mother out of Sight. 259 

Who, born of Eve, high mercy won, 
To bear and nurse the Eternal Son. 
O, awful station ; to no seraph given, 
On this side touching sin, on the other heaven ! 

Therefore as kneeling day by day 
We to our Father duteous pray, 
So unforbidden may we speak 
An Ave to Christ's Mother meek : 
(As children with " good morrow" come 
To elders in some happy home :) 
Inviting so the saintly host above 
With our unworthiness to pray in love. 

To pray with us, and gently bear 
Our falterings in the pure bright air. 
But strive we pure and bright to be 
In spirit, else how vain of thee 
Our earnest dreamings, awful Bride ! 
Feel we the sword that pierced thy side 
Thy spotless lily flower, so clear of hue, 
Shrinks from the breath impure, the tongue untrue. 

Dec. 8, in Conceptioiie B.M. V. , 1S44. 


Wh^n is {^mmunicm nearest? 

When is Communion nearest ? 
When blended anthems dearest ? 
Is it where far away dim aisles prolong 
The cadence of the choral song ? 
Whose notes like waves in ocean, 
When all are heard, yet none, 
With ever upward surging motion 
Approach the Eternal Throne ? 
Notes that would of madness tell, 
So keen they pierce, so high they swell ; 
But for heaven's harmonious spell ; 
Keen to the listening ear, as to the sight 
The purest wintry star's intolerable light, 
Yet mild as evening gleams just melting into night. 

Or rather where soft soaring 
One silent heart adoring 
Loves o'er the stillness of the sick man's room 
To breathe intensest prayer's perfume, 

When is Communion nearest? 261 

Whether calm rest be sealing 
The pained and wearied eyes, 
Or in high blended feeling 
Watcher and sufferer rise. 
Sweet the sleep, the waking dear 
When the holy Church is near 
With mother's arms to hush and cheer. 
Seems it not then as though each prayer and psalm, 
Came like one message more from that far world of 
An earnest of His love, whose Blood is healing balm ? 


$oltj is the $ic& JKan's Eaom. 

Holy is the sick man's room. 
Temper'd air, and curtain'd gloom, 
Measured steps, and tones as mild 
As the breath of new-born child, 
Postures lowly, waitings still, 
Looks subdued to duty's will, 
Reverent, thoughtful, grave and sweet : 
These to wait on Christ are meet. 
These may kneel where He lies low, 
In His members suffering woe. 
Nor in other discipline 
Train we hearts that to His shrine 
May unblamed draw near, and be 
With His favour'd two and three. 
Therefore in its silent gloom 
Holy is the sick man's room. 


St. Math xvi. 4. 

Draw near as early as we may, 
Grace, like an angel, goes before. 
The stone is roll'd away, 
We find an open door. 

O, wondrous chain ! where aye entwine 
Our human wills, a tender thread, 
With the strong Will Divine. 
We run as we are led. 

We, did I say ? 'tis all Thine own ; 
Thou in the dark dost Mary guide. 
Thine angel moves the stone, 
Love feels Thee at her side. 


hard, if evevj <&c, 

O Lord, if ever of Thy Spouse forlorn 
Thy mercy heard the loud and bitter cry, 
Then loudest, when in silent agony 
She pleads her children's hate, her subjects' scorn, 
Now be that hour : now pride, that all would know. 
Proclaims Thee Saviour, but obeys Thy foe. 
Ere love's one relic crumble quite away, 
Ere, as we scorn to fast, we cease to pray, 
Spare us, good Lord : speak out once more 
The word that wrought Thy work of yore, 
"Sell all, and all forsake; and trust 
The Cross for treasure : God is just." 


St* fohn xiv. I, 

" Trust in God, and trust in Me." 
How should a sinner turn to Thee, 
Maker of a world of glory, 
Brother of a race forlorn, 
If questions, fancy-bred and earthly-born, 
Rise and obscure the sacred story ? 
Thee must we own God-Man, even as Thy Sire 
Sole fount of Godhead, ere we turn to Thee entire. 


f e at nice Txmdi, Ac. 

Ye of nice touch, and keen true eye 
To measure gain and loss, O say, 

Hail'd the bright City built on high 
No joyful winning day, 

When angel accents chimed so clear 
On great Augustine's ear, 
When from God's open book 
The holy fire brake out 
And flashed, and thrill'd at once in every nook 

Of his sad soul, consuming fear and doubt, 
Each cloud of earthly care, 
And left heaven's fragrance there ? 

Thine, holiest hermit, was the spell ; 

(Heaven crowning so thy humble love ;) 
Earth, and the glory of thy cell 

Within his bosom strove. 
Far off he mark'd heaven's portal ope to thee, 

And pray'd for wings as free. 

Ye of 'nice Touch, &*£ 267 

O torch, from saint to saint 
From age to age pass'd on, 
Still may we see thee, when Church fires grow faint 
Wave bright'ning in some grasp of gifted holy one. 

[ Two lines wanting. J 


The Clarion calls, &c. 

The clarion calls : away ! to take 

Thy station in God's host ; 
And with His mitred watchmen wake ; 
And in meek silence for His sake 
Endure what scornful music earth can make 

When holy ground seems lost. 

Too well I read thy shrinking brow ; 

A sting is busy there : 
A fretful conscience, wondering how 
Such boldness suits with broken vow. 
Didst thou not erst before the Anointed bow 
And glad obedience swear ? 


In 6hwrs and flaxes where thetj Sing, 
hfitje fxxliaw^tli the Jtntlimn, 

Lord, make my heart a place where angels sing ! 

For surely thoughts low-breathed by Thee 
Are angels gliding near on noiseless wing ; 

And where a home they see 

Swept clean, and garnish'd with adoring joy. 

They enter in and dwell. 

And teach that heart to swell 
With heavenly melody, their own untired employ. 


stefjemiah xxiii 2$. 

Far, far on other isles, 

Where other stars are beaming, 
Where the bright rose on Christmas smiles, 

And Whitsun lights with frost are gleaming. 
Yon kindly Moon, and glorious Sun 
Their race, as here, unwearying run. 

W T hat if all else be strange ? 

The two great lights of heaven 
Know neither error, stay, nor change. 

By them all else to sight is given ; 
And with them duly, fresh and bright, 
Home thoughts return both day and night. 

Glory to our true Sun, 

Who shineth far and near ; 
Who for His duteous Spouse hath won 

A place as of a lunar sphere ; 
And by their light, where'er she roam, 
Faith finds a safe, familiar home. 


Why seek w#t sounding high and lour? 

Why seek we, sounding high and low 
Through heaven and earth, as though 

The Eternal Son were yet enthroned on high 

In His first unincarnate Majesty? 

Why, tottering on the dizzy steep, 

Gaze down the lowest deep ? 
Find'st thou a cave so dark but His dear might 
Hath burst the bars, and wing'd the prisoner's flight ? 

Nay homewards, wandering soul, repair, 

The gloom, the bars are there : 
The word is nigh, even in thy mouth and heart. 
Only obey, and He will all impart. 

A leaf or spray at hand may hide 

A landscape fair and wide, 
Thy casement clear, and thou a reach shalt find 
Of earth, air, sea, quite to an eagle's mind. 



The shepherd lingers on the lone hill side, 
In act to count his faithful flock again, 

Ere to a stranger's eye and arm untried 
He yield the rod of his old pastoral reign : 
He turns; and round him memories throng 

Thoughts that had seem'd for ever left behind 
O'ertake him, e'en as by some greenwood lane 

The summer flies the passing traveller find ; 
Keen, but not half so sharp as now thrill o'er his mind. 

He sees the things that might have been arise, 
The heavenly vision how the saints adore, 

Erst slighted by his cold, unworthy eyes, 

Then upward drawn in wrath, and seen no more. 
Now it returns, — too late, — his time is o'er 5 

Fragment. 273 

The morns and eves are gone when Heaven bade 
And earth bade slumber, and he lord earth's 
Better than Heaven's. What angel now might 
How dear he fain would buy one precious week or 

He sees from things that are the veil half-drawn, 

The souls, his charge, awaiting their dire doom 
On earth, or where earth's light no more may 
What if, that hour, in more than dreams they 

Marred by his baseness, by his sloth bade roam ? 
O, spare him, heavenly chastener ! spare his soul 
That bitterest pang ; — nay, urge it close and 
So the dark Past the Future may control, 
And blood and tears be found to blot the accusing 


274 Fragment, 

Seeks he the weary heart's appointed rest ? 

Each soothing verse to him is stern rebuke. 
Lo ! a wide shore that feels the breezy West, — 

He sees where kneeling saints with upward look 

Assuage the farewell pang Love scarce can brook, 
With upward look, and tears subdued to prayer. 

And He who never yet true love forsook 
By His own loved Apostle sealing there 
His presence through the veil, wafts high each cloud 
of care. 

Well may the faithful flock hang o'er that page 
In joy ; but pastors of no pastoral mood, 

Or slumb'rers o'er God's wasted heritage ! — 
Oft as they read " Behold me pure of blood, 
None have I left unwarn'd, no breath of good 
Stifled or tainted," — hard and cold the heart 

Which can endure unbroken ! dull and rude 
The spirit, which to heal such sudden smart, 
Flees to the blind world's praise, or custom's sooth- 
ing art ! 


St. $(xhn u. 16, 17. 

Ye know not what ye ask : 
Should He but once your rude words hear, 

And cease from His eternal task, 
The heavens would start asunder, sphere from 
Such Sabbath as ye bid Him keep 
Were to the world and you, a deathful endless sleep. 

Ye know not whom ye seek 
With murderous aim, the Lord of Life. 

So is it yet ; when foes would wreak 
On His immortal Church their haughty strife, 

What do they else but seal and stay 
The fount of their own grace, Life's open, only way ? 

March 1 8. 


When in bur Ijaxtr of still Jihecat}. 

When in her hour of still decay, 

The matron Earth to her worn breast 
The relics of her Spring array 
Folds, ere she sink in quiet rest ; 
Envying her calm, thou wak'st that hour. 
Prince of the tainted airs rude power : 
And twisting, sweeping, rushing, rending. 
With every gentlest motion blending 
Of frailest shrub in greenwood lair, 
Before their time thou lay'st them bare. 

E'en so when Christian souls are sere, 

And fading leaves of earthly life 
Drop one by one, and leave all clear 
For a new Spring, whose buds are rife 
Already, then the unsleeping foe 
Watches to lay that glory low ; 

When in her Hour cf still Decay. 277 

Some breath of passion wild preparing, 
Pride, hate, desire's untimely glaring ; 

And in a moment mars our best. 

Autumnal wanderers, keep your nest S 

Sept. 30. 


To the hard of the f&anor of f&srdon, 

The Petition of sundry Life Tenants, or Hereditary 
Denizens of the said Manor 

Humbly sheweth, 

That by the custom of this clime 
Even from immemorial time, 
We, or our forefathers old 
(As in Withering's list enrolled) 
Have in occupation been 
Of all nooks and corners green, 
Where the swelling meadows sweet 
With the wavy woodlands meet. 
There we peep and disappear 
There in games to fairies dear 
All the spring-tide hours we spend, 
Hiding, seeking without end. 
And sometimes a merry train 
Comes upon us from the lane. 

To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon. 279 

Every gleaming afternoon 
All through April, May, and June, 
Boys and maidens, birds and bees, 
Airy whisperings of all trees, 
With their music well supply 
All we need of sympathy. 

Now and then a graver guest 
For one moment here will rest, 
Loitering in his pastoral walk, 
And with us hold kindly talk. 
To himself we've heard him say, 
" Thanks that I may hither stray ; 
Worn with age, and sin, and care. 
Here I breathe the pure, glad air ; 
Here Faith's lesson learn anew 
Of this happy vernal crew. 
Here the fragrant shrubs around, 
And the graceful, shadowy ground, 
And the village tones afar, 
And the steeple with its star, 
And the clouds that gently move, 
Tune the heart to trust and love." 

280 To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon, 

Thus we fared in ages past : 

But the nineteenth age at last 

(As your suppliants are advised) 

Reigns, and we no more are prized. 

Now a giant plump and tall, 

Called " High Farming," stalks o'er all. 

Platforms, railings, and straight lines 

Are the charms for which he pines. 

Forms mysterious, ancient hues, 

He with untired hate pursues ; 

And his cruel word and will 

Is from every copse-trown'd hill, 

Every glade in meadow deep 

Us, and our green bowers to sweep. 

Now our prayer is, here and there, 
May your Honour deign to spare 
Shady spots and nooks, where we 
Yet may flourish, safe and free. 
So old Hampshire still may own 
(Charm to other shires unknown) 
Bays and creeks of grassy lawn 
Half beneath his woods withdrawn : 

To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon. 281 

So from many a joyous child, 
Many a sire and mother mild, 
For the sheltering boughs so sweet, 
And the blossoms at their feet, 
Thanks, with prayers, shall find their way. 
And we flowers, if we could pray, 
With our very best would own 
Your young floweret newly blown. 

Anemone Nemorosa, Daffodil, 

Primula Vulgaris, Cowslip, 

Orchis, Strawberry, 

Violet, &c, &c, &c, innumerable signatures. 

Ladwell Hill, April 3, 185 1. 

To his Sister Elizabeth. 

Saints in Paradise, we know, 
Wait and long for saints below. 
Sure, if in realms of joy begun 
Earth's pilgrims are remembered one by one, 
If days and times are noted there, 
Now, on this Sunday still and fair, 
Dearest Sister, there are two, 
Two, as dear, that turn toward you. 

One that on this favour'd day 
Down in happy slumber lay. 
O, who the thoughts may guess and deem 
That haply mingle with her angel-dream, 
When among graces tasted here 
She counts thy warnings, Sister dear, 
Smiles and words, and ways of love 
Here half-seen, now felt above. 

To his Sister Elizabeth. 283 

With her waits by Eden's stream, 
Partner of her blissful dream 
A younger spirit, too pure, too fair 
E'en for love's sake, this mean earth long to bear. 
She in her partial love had plann'd 
This sacred task for an unworthy hand. 
May it now, till life shall end, 
With her sweetest memory blend ! 


Written in tlw JUbttm at ^uddusdon 

Whoe'er from Cuddesdon's pastoral shade 
Shall seek the green hill's point, and gaze 
On Oxford in the " watery glade/' 

And seem half-lost in memory's maze, 

Much wondering where his thoughts of good 

Have flown, since last in that lone nook he stood, 

But wondering more untiring Love should be 

So busy round the unworthiest ; — let him see 

There hath before him been one musing e'en as he. 

Jan. 13, 1854. 


MntsC) let mz draw, &c* 

" Nurse, let me draw the baby's veil aside, 
I want to see the Cross upon her brow." 

Nay, maiden dear, that seal may not abide 
In sight of mortals^ ken ; 'tis vanished now. 

" Alas, for pity ! when the holy man 

Said even now, ' I sign thee with the cross.' 

Vv'hat joy to think that I at home should scan 

The bright, clear lines ! O, sad and sudden loss !' : 

Complain not so, my child : no loss is here, 
But endless gain. If thou wilt open wide 

Faith's inward eye, soon shall to thee appear 
What now by wondering angels is descried, 

Thy Lord's true token, seen not but believ'd, 
And therefore doubly blest. O. mark it well, 

And be this rule in thy young heart receiv'd, 
Blest, who content with Him in twilight dwell. 

286 Nurse, let me draw, &>c. 

Saints, while the very image He denied. 

Made much of the dim shadow : now He gives 

The image. In adoring faith abide, 

As in spring-time we watch unfolding leaves. 

Woe to impatient hands, that ere its prime 
Force the bud open, mar the unready flower : 

Woe to faint hearts that will not wait the time, 
To know the secrets of your blissful bower. 

Thy saints, O Lord, and Thine own Mother dear 
Are round Thee as a glory-cloud : w r e see 

The general glow, not each in outline clear, 
Or several station : all are hid in Thee. 

In prayer we own Thee, Father, at our side, 
Not always feel or taste Thee ; and 'tis well. 

So, hour by hour, courageous faith is tried ; 
So, gladlier will the morn all mists dispel. 

Feb. 19, 1854. 


%mn fxw Easter- tid£. 

Written for the Book of Prayers, at Ouddesdon College. 

11 Also, I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall T 
send, and who will go for us ? Then said I, Here I am, send 
me." — Zsa. vi. 8. 

Lord of life, prophetic Spirit ! 

In sweet measure evermore 
To the holy children dealing 

Each his gift from Thy rich store ; 
Bless Thy family, adoring 

As in Israel's schools of yore. 

Holy Jesus ! Eye most loving 

On each young disciple bent ; 
Voice, - that, seeming earthly, summon'd 

Samuel to the awful tent \ — 
Hand, that cast Elijah's mantle ; 

Thine be all Thy grace hath lent ! 

2 S 3 Hymn for Easter-tide. 

As to Thine own seventy scholars 
Thou of old Thine arm didst reach, 

Under Thy majestic shadow 
Guiding them to do, and teach, 

Till their hour of solemn unction, 
So be with us, all and each. 

God, and Father of all spirits 

Whose dread call young Joshua knew, 
Forty days in darkness waiting 

With Thy servant good and true : 
Thence to wage Thy war descending. 

Own us, Lord, Thy champions too. 

One Thy light, the Temple filling, 
Holy, holy, holy Three : 

Meanest men, and brightest angels 
Wait alike the word from Thee. 

Highest musings, lowliest worship, 
Must their preparation be. 

Hymn for Easter-tide. 289 

Now Thou speakest, — hear we trembling, 

From the Glory comes a Voice. 
" Who accepts the Almighty's mission ? 

Who will make Christ's work his choice ? 
Who for us proclaim to sinners 

Turn, believe, endure, rejoice?" 

Here we are, Redeemer, send us ! 

But because Thy work is fire, 
And our lips, unclean and earthly, 

Breathe no breath of high desire, 
Send Thy Seraph from Thine altar 

Veiled, but in his bright attire. 

Cause him, Lord, to fly full swiftly 
With the mystic coal in hand, 

Sin-consuming, soul-transforming, 
(Faith and Love will understand,) 

Touch our lips, Thou awful Mercy, 
With Thine own keen, healing brand, 

290 Hymn for Easter-tide. 

Thou didst come that fire to kindle ; 

Fain would we Thy torches prove, 
Far and wide Thy beacons lighting 

With the undying spark of love. 
Only feed our flame, we pray Thee, 

With Thy breathings from above. 

Now to God, the soul's Creator, 
To His Word and Wisdom sure, 

To His all-enlightening Spirit, 
Patron of the frail and poor, 

Three in One, be praise and glory, 
Here, and while the heavens endure. 



For the ®riemng: at the West Window 

at the 3jjaU at St. Andrew's College, 

Eradfield. Jtpril 5, 1859. 

1 * In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread. ' ' 

When Adam his first Sunday kept, 
It dawn'd on work, and not on rest ; 

Yet when he laid him down and slept, 
No travail sore his soul opprest ; 

Work, easy as an angel's flight, 

Brought slumber as an infant's, light. 

Upon the ground he casts him now, 
The ground, accursed for his sake ; 

The chill damps on his weary brow, 
And even in sleep his heart will ache. 

If to his fellow-men he call, 

There is the curse of Babel's wall. 

292 For the Opening, &>c. 

But thou the Lord's new Eden seek, 
The garden-mount where olives grow, 

There prostrate lies a Sufferer meek, 
Go, bathe thee in His Sweat, — and lo ! 

Thou, as at first, shalt rise renewed, 

For Jesus' sweat is healing Blood. 

Thy work a blessed pastime then 
Shall prove, — thy rest a sacred song ; 

The Babel-cries of scattered men 
Attuned to anthems pure and strong. 

The treasures of King Solomon 

For holy Church redeem'd and won. 


fmxj&ts of Saints* 

Half-hearted men we creep 

Along our listless way, 
And where we sowed but yesterday, 
E'en now presumptuous would reap. 
We stir the root 
And see no tender shoot ; 
Too fine the work of grace for our rude eye. 
Then in proud wrath 
Turn on our homeward path, 
Leaving th ? untended plant in the bleak air to die. 

Not so the unwearied Saints, 

Yet shadowing with their prayers 

The fallen land that erst was theirs : 

Where they repose hope never faints. 
There, day or night, 

Before that altar bright 

294 Prayers of Saints. 

They kneel, if haply from its stores benign, 
One healing ray 
May dart its downward way, 
In course unerring towards some English shrine, 



For the Tomb of the old Biddlecombes, May 24, 1861, 

Lord Jesus, loving hearts and dear 

Are resting in Thy shadow here ; 

In life Thou wast their hope, and we 

In death would trust them, Lord, with Thee. 


For Music. 

" Miserere, Domine, 

" Miserere, Domine." 
Aching heart, and weary soul, 
Cares that wildly toss, and roll, 
Hush ! — the soft note downward stole 
With a charm to make you whole. 
Hush ! — far off it melts away 

O'er the quiet moonlight sea : 
The boatmen rest their oars, and say 

" Miserere, Domine." 

" Miserere, Domine, 

" Miserere, Domine." 
Youthful spirits, laughing eyes, 
Hopes as gay as summer skies, 
Hush ! — and in adoring wise 
Hear the strain that never dies ! 

For Music. 297 

Lost to mortal ears, that lay 

O'er the stars may wander free : 
The Angels still their harps, and say, 
"Miserere, Domine." 


Hart and Webber ♦ 

Dart. Wild Webber, wild Webber, why rush on so 

Your speed is so reckless, it never can last. 
Why can't you glide gently around the rough 

They'll not move a hair's breadth for all your 

loud moans. 

Besides, at the angle which mortals call 

« right" 
Head-foremost you charge me \ I shrink with 

The primroses, open-eyed there on the brink, 
Are watching us quite at a loss what to think. 

Webber. Indeed, Mrs. Dart, I must own it is true; 

But then, pray consider, I'm younger than you ; 
And really till here in this dingle we met, 
A lesson in manners I never did get. 

Dart and Webber. 299 

Henceforth arm in arm we'll move on, if you please, 
And just at your pace ; pray be quite at your ease ; 
But ere we arrive at Holne Chase, I foresee, 
The echoes will hear you far louder than me. 

April 29, 1863. 


IjU van 

Composed on the occasion of the Visit of the British 
Association for the Fromotion of Science, to be sung 
in the Parish Church of St. Nicholas, Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne, 1863. 

The Lord is King ; He wrought His will 
In heaven above, in earth below ; 

His wonders the wide ocean fill, 

The cavern'd deeps His judgment shew. 

The Lord is King ; the world stands fast : 

Nature abides, for He is strong ; 
The perfect note He gave, shall last 

Till cadence of her even-song. 

The Lord is King ; ye worlds rejoice ! 

The waves of power, that from His shrine 
Thrill out in silence, have no choice : 

They harm not till He gives the sign. 

Hymn, 301 

The Lord is King ; hush, wayward heart ! 

Earth's wisdom fails, earth's daring faints. 
There seek Him whence He ne'er departs, 

And own Him greatest in His saints. 

Thou, Lord, art King : crown'd Priests are we, 
To cast our crowns before the Throne. 

By us the creature worships Thee, 
Yet we but bring Thee of Thine own. 

To the great Maker, to the Son 

Himself vouchsafing to be made, 
To the good Spirit, Three in One, 

All praise by all His works be paid. Amen. 


Tn a UttU 0irl. 

Seal of the Letter. 

Hursley Vicarage \ 
Dec. 22, 1863. 

There was a kind small maiden q , and she was fain 

to greet 
Her Godpapa and Vicar with a little loving treat. 
So she counsell'd with her sisters, and all the three 

And by an old acquaintance, a letter sent with speed ; 
Which when the Vicar open'd, he ponder'd o'er 

and o'er : 
" The time I see is Wednesday, a quarter after four. 

<i The "kind small maiden" of this little poem is one of the daughters 
of Sir W. Heathcote, Bart-, the Vicar's god-child. 

To a Little Girl. 303 

But when we're all assembled, what will the pastime 

No word is here to say, but a Heart and Crown I 

see: — 
A little Heart brimful of love, a Crown without a care : 
O this is Christmas mirth indeed, I'll joyfully be 

there !" 


To. faster Bernard Wilson's ®o#* 

Dear Fussy, 

This morning so kindly without any call 

You met me, and shewed me the way to the Fall, 

That I feel drawn towards you, and now am inclined 

In confidence strict to unburden my mind. 

I know I may trust you, for e'en if you bark, 

As well you may, startled, and seem to cry, " Hark !" 

At such bad behaviour as I must confess, 

Folks know not your language, and hardly will guess. 

Oh, Fussy ! a well-bred young creature like you, 
Who have lived with the courteous all your life 

Cannot tell how a conscience at morning will ache 
If with thought of kind letters unanswered it wake. 

(Here suppose a lengthy confession.) 

To Master Bernard Wilson 's Dog. 305 

Then tell Mr. Bernard, dear dog, if you please, 
That the man whom he knows of his error now sees, 
And is quite fain to promise in prose or in rhyme, 
That he never will do so again till next time. 
Mr. Bernard will say, " I forgive like a king, 
He's free to lie loitering by the cool spring ; 
And hear the gay Percie-bird whistle and sing 
From morning to eve, in his conscience no sting." 

Femiehurst, Aug. 16, 1864. 


Ah ! cease my friend, that mournful lay . 

Alleluia, sweetest Anthem 

All hail, thou messenger of spring and love 

And dare I say, " Welcome to me 

And dare ye deem God's ire must cease . 

And shrink ye still ?— He nearer draws . 

And they who grudge the Omnipotent His praise 

April's gone, the king of showers 

Are the gates sure ? — is every bolt made fast ? . 

Away, or e'er the Lord break forth ! 

Behold your armoury : — sword and lightning shaft 

Bethlehem, above all cities blest . 

Blow fresh and fair, thou cheerful summer breeze 

Born of God the Father's bosom . 

But Faith is cold, and wilful men are strong 

But louder yet the heavens shall ring 

But sadder strains, and direr bodings dark 

By your Lord's creative breath . 

Come, twinkle in my lonely room 

Cove beyond cove, in faint and fainter line 

Dark mountains, happy valley, glorious sky 

Draw near as early as we may 

Dread glimpses, e'en in gospel times, have been 

Dread Word, who from the Father hast 

Dull thunders moan around the Temple Rock . 

Each morn and eve, the Golden Keys 
E'en now vouchsafe, Good Spirit, One . 

Fain would we love Thee, Lord ; for Thou 
Far, far on other isles .... 
Farewell, bright visions of my lonely hours 









Farewell, thou soft Moon, and ye shadowy gleams 

Father and Lord of our whole life 

Fear not : for He hath sworn 

Full many an eve, and many a morn 

Give ear, — the Voice rings keen and true 
God's mercy is in the pure beam of Spring 
Grieve not though Mary's birthday pass'd 

Hail ! gladdening Light, of His pure glory poured 

Hail, Martyr-flowers, who gleaming forth 

Half-hearted men we creep 

He spake : He died and rose again 

Holy is the sick man's room 

How can I leave thee all unsung 

How long endure this priestly scorn 

How mournfully the lingering rain-drops sound 

How shall the righteous win their way . 

How soft, how silent has the stream of time 

How varied, how rich, in the light-curtain'd west 

If waiting by the time-crown'd halls 

If, when across the autumnal heaven 

I love thee well, thou solitary Cave 

In Harmony, they say, the part . 

Is He not near?— look up and see 

Is it not sad dear friends should part 

Is there no sound about our Altars heard 

I thought to meet no more, so dreary seem'd 

Lo ! from the Eastern hills the Lord 

Lord in Thy Name Thy servants plead . 

Lord Jesus, loving hearts and dear 

Lord, lift my heart to Thee at morn 

Lord, make my heart a place where angels sing 

Lord of life, prophetic Spirit 

Mary, Margaret, Anne, Eliza 
Meek, pastoral, quiet souls, whoe'er ye be 
Miserere, Domine .... 
My spirit lingers round that blessed space 

Nay, ask not for a lay of mine 
Nay, but these are breezes bright 


2 3 8 




















3 o8 


No joy of mine to invite the thunder down 

Nor wants there Seraph warnings, morn and eve 

Not the dark shade of thy majestic groves 

Now the stars are lit in heaven 

Nurse, let me draw the baby's veil aside 

O blessed gem, of saintly, spotless kind . 

O God, th' enduring might of things 

O, heard ye not the night -wind's roar 

Oh ! surely Scorner is his name . 

Oh ! Thou who deign'st to sympathize . 

O Lord, if ever of Thy Spouse forlorn 

O, mournful on our ears the wild harp died 

One only Way to life 

O, stay thee yet, bright image, stay 

O Sun of Lusitane, are those thy rays 

O sweetly timed, as e'er was gentle hand 

O thou, whose dim and tearful gaze 

Our God in glory sits on high 

Sad privilege is mine, to shew 

Saints in Paradise, we know 

Saw ye the bright-eyed stately child 

Seek we some realm where virgin souls may pray 

Servant of God, remember 

Silence, unworthy ! how should tones like thine 

Sing, my tongue, of glorious warfare 

Sleep has refresh'd our limbs : we spring 

Slowly the gleaming stars retire . 

Soft ridge of cloud or mountain ! which thou art 

Sons of our Mother ! such the indignant strain 

Strong Ruler, God whose Word is truth 

Sun, Moon, and Stars, one day contending sought 

Sweet bed of death ! how oft to thee 

Sweet bird ! up earliest in the morn 

Tell me, ye maidens fair and wise 
That by the custom of this clime 
The Ark of God is in the field 
The banners of the King appear . 
The choir of new Jerusalem 
The clarion calls : away ! to take 
The fire of Heaven breaks forth . 















The flood is round thee, but thy towers as yet . 

The grey-eyed Morn was sadden'd with a shower 

The lions prowl around, thy grave to guard 

The Lord hath set me o'er the kings of earth 

The Lord is King ; He wrought His will 

The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth . 

There have been mighty winds on high . 

There sate one lonely on a green hill side 

There was a kind small maiden, and she was fain to greet 

There was a young rook, and he lodged in a nook 

The road-side airs are sweet that breathe of home 

These are the workings of a spirit pure . 

The shepherd lingers on the lone hill side 

The Star of day hath risen, and we 

The traveller, when his time is short 

The twilight hour is sweet at home 

The voice that breathed o'er Eden 

They say I am no faithful swain . 

They say, " The man is false, and falls away :" 

This cannot be the sleep of death 

This glorious morn, Time's eldest born . 

This morning so kindly without any call 

Thou gentle Moon, so lone and sweet 

Thou, Light's Creator, first and best 

Thou, who in Farleigh's ivied bower 

Thou, whom with proud and happy heart I call 

Thus evermore the Saints' avenging God 

Tired of the rude world's angry din 

" Trust in God, and trust in Me" 

'Twas on the day when England's Church of yore 

Two lamps apart may brightly burn 

Tyre of the farther West ! be thou too warn'd 

Visions of vastness and of beauty ! long . 
Voice of the wise of old 

Watch we by night, with one accord uprising 
What mountain-echoes roll 
When Adam his first Sunday kept 
When Christ to village comes or town 
When I behold yon arch magnificent 
When in her hour of still decay . 













When is Communion nearest ? 
Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain . 
Whoe'er from Cuddesdon's pastoral shade 
Whom blesseth most the gentle dew of heaven ? 
Why art thou sad, my soul, when all around 
Why seek we, sounding high and low 
Wild Webber, wild Webber, why rush on so fast ? 
Word supreme, before creation 

Ye know not what ye ask .... 

Ye lingering hours speed on ! with infant haste 

Ye of nice touch, and keen true eye 

Yes, I will stamp her image on my soul . 

Yon tower that gleams against the blackening east 

You ask me for a song, my dear . 


, 260 

. 92 

. 284 



2 7I 

. 298 

. Ill 

• 275 
. 188 
. 266 
. 2l8 
. 248 


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Fcap. 8vo., cloth, 7s. 6d. ; Cheap Edition, cloth, Is. 6d. 

of Sodor and Man. Compiled chiefly from Original Docu- 
ments. In Two Parts. 8vo., cloth, 21s. 

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